The aftermath of hard work,
is never what I am expecting.
Hands cramped into agonizing positions
that I can only say I forced myself into.
My wounds are filled with paint inside
A constant reminder of what I am.
The canvas turns to a blur,
and what I was once proud of
is now a scrambled mess.
I stare at it and wonder,
where I went wrong.
The mess i've created
shattered over time.
Slowly but surely,
the thoughts come into my head
that this is not good enough.
The canvas is dry,
and there is no going back.
For a moment, I want to cry
over all of the wasted time
that I spent on this art
that can't possibly be mine.
So I try again and again,
until I feel as if I can't move my hands
and the work I create
satisfies me enough
to where it is no longer a blur.
YOU ARE READING
🌟⠀⁺⠀𝜗 RURU'S POEMS 𝜚
Poetryhi!! im zeru but you can call me ruru :D I do poetry and wanted to share it as much as I can. I have a tiktok thats @/hyastar.uu !!! (I also post art there!) I want to be a poet one day and I hope my poems inspire people... ENJOYY!!!
