Paint

Weary, uncertain  
 
I just cannot seem to pick up the paintbrush anymore  
 
I no longer feel like an artist  
 
Instead, I am a fraud  
 
A fraud that holds a paintbrush  
 
In my trembling, calloused hands  
 
An artist can pick up a canvas  
 
Create something out of nothing  
 
Something beautiful  
 
At any given time  
 
I haven’t been able to do so in weeks, a month, a year  
 
I’ve lost track of the time  
 
But today is the day  
 
I am unsure of what it is I will paint  
 
A portrait? A landscape?  
 
With certain query, I dip into yellow first  
 
A vibrant, lively yellow  
 
I imagine myself lying in a field of daffodils  
 
My childhood home  
 
I then dip into a buoyant orange  
 
As I imagine a monarch landing decidedly  
 
Onto one of the lovely petals  
 
I capture it in a jar  
 
As I feel it is my obligation to take care of it  
 
To look after it, to nurse it  
 
Just imagine the broken heart of the child  
 
Who finds the limp wings the next morning  
 
Only to discover the butterfly needed oxygen to survive  
 
I transition to a green  
 
A dark, emphatic green  
 
I imagine running barefoot  
 
Through the uncharted woods  
 
Wandering  
 
Extending my arms  
 
To feel the pine needles brush against my skin  
 
I can smell the fragrance of the pine  
 
I feel the sting of a pricker that catches my finger  
 
I see the drop of blood as it hits the ground  
 
I dip into a soft, candle lit yellow  
 
The light that guides me home  
 
This is not right, not quite what I envisioned  
 
I start over  
 
I dip into a faraway green  
 
For the Emerald City eyes that bewitched me the most  
 
Though I did my best to fight it  
 
I dip into an amber  
 
Imagining the coffee stained smile  
 
That always promised you the world under a watchful glance  
 
But whispered the harshest words when no one could hear  
 
I delve into a crimson red  
 
The color of my cheeks  
 
Because you smiled at me once  
 
I then dip into a light brown  
 
As I envision the worn-out topsiders  
 
I never imagined I could fill  
 
I sigh, I rinse my brush thoroughly  
 
Feeling unsatisfied, I start over once more  
 
I dip into a scarlet fever red  
 
For all of the times I’ve been angry with everyone  
 
But mostly with myself  
 
I mix dark gray and light blue  
 
For all of the times I’ve been sunny on the outside  
 
But a hideous, whirlwind hurricane on the inside  
 
I dip into a peony pink  
 
For the vulnerability I wish I still possessed  
 
I mix lilac and charcoal  
 
In an attempt to evoke the imagination  
 
I am so desperate not to lose  
 
I am hanging onto it by one golden thread  
 
Descending from Rapunzel’s lonely head  
 
I take my brush  
 
I dip it into a pure white  
 
And I blend everything together  
 
I take a step back  
 
A starving artist I will remain  
 
And yet, it is my greatest work of all