In the past there were days I felt
like the final triumph of a notable artist.
I would represent being noticed.
It wouldn't be long after I felt
like a framed painting falling off the wall.
I would represent the effects of my quarrel.
Soon after, I felt
like a painting cut from it's frame.
I don't feel like I represent my artist's aim.
Now I'm feeling
like paint melting off the canvas.
Imagining going back,
it makes me nervous.
But, soon I will feel
like paint washing down the drain.
Don't feel bad,
I know I was brutal to maintain.
In time I hope I'll feel
like clean paint brushes
and empty canvases.
I'm ready to start new,
because I'm uneager
to get through.
©anastriana
A