painting.

dabs of paint on canvas
yellows blues and greens
pushing against the course grains with the heel of my hand
and blending them together

you never let go of your brush
single straight lines of black run with the gridlike textures
while my paint falls so delicately with the water
none of my colors blurring into one

you suffocate me with your perfection.
let it go. let it go. let it go.
there's nothing out of place with you -
but for me.

but I'm not on your canvas anymore
colors discarded to the side for your perfect sketches
maybe it's perfect
but it isn't art.

(31 May 2009)

I'm having a really relaxing day. In fact, I am just wearing cheerleading shorts and lazing around my house. I really shouldn't bother writing poetry, but phrases sort of blend together in my head and I think it's the best way to describe the way I feel right now.