you were a blank canvas
full of possibilities.
i tried to paint you
but even as paint seeped into the canvas
your picture never formed.
it didn't make sense
as i tried over and over
to colour you in with oils, acrylics, watercolour
but still, the canvas remained clear.
then i learned,
maybe painting just wasn't for me.
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrypoetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found words -robert frost. all poems are mine unless stated otherwise. just thought i'd give someone a taste of my mind. #4 in ode
