A poem

Am I done yet?

I feel like a draft of myself

Could some budding artist fold me up and carry me to their studio

pin me up high or lay me out flat, I don’t care…

just rub out the parts that don’t feel right,

smudge over past versions still on show,

my canvas is exposed,


Pull out your brushes and paints,

enhance my colours that are fading away.

and while you’re there, please

scale my proportions properly to frame.

Because I’m paling to who I once was,

who I want to be.

A collection of inconsistent parts.

The edits are endless and I’m tired,

I want to sleep through it all and wake up a masterpiece.



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Aspiring everything, but for the sake of 160 characters… I write and read poetry and personal essays. Happy to create/chat/collab!