I’ve seen artists

they draw, sculpt and paint

in a whirlpool of flamboyance.

'twas in my third grade

when my inability to fold paper to make

origami, became my lot;

I was told to be attentive to details

let the lead of my pencil crush

into solid paper, sketches of mountains

beside colored mushrooms, the erasures

a testament of my weakness.

I splatter colors to create

a mosaic. Not good enough.

I've observed artists

the concept, the image of them

like ochre smeared on a canvas

and ivory figures


I am drawn to their light;

they brew words upon my mouth

mixing them with beauty. I sip slowly

the flavor of awe; scent clinging

on my awkward hands.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wish I have the talent for drawing or painting. =)

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