I am a painter’s brush dripping and crossing across the paper.

I am the bold outline of the harsh shape words

That sometimes leaves my mouth before I can stop them.

I am the delicate details in the clouds painted above,

That float their way down to softly say, “I’m here for you.”

 

I am the first note on a bass

That the owner fumbled their fingers to strike.

An embarrassed smile on their face

As they promised themselves to be better.

I am their now well practiced movements,

Confidence replaced apprehension on the fret board.

A look of proudness at what they had accomplished.

 

I am a letter.

A number in the school system.

Number 324 in a long procession of students

Who suffer from sleepless nights.

A “B” student drinking cup after cup of tea

To stay up and hopefully be an “A”.

 

I am just a name to colleges and universities.

A disposable money bank with a target on her back.

A target that debt will zero in on and take me down.

 

I am just a hopeful picture

Existing in the painter’s land

Trying to be the best picture I can be.