Literature
I am only a Writer
Sometimes I wish I was an artiest;
An opulently, chaotic thing
With paintbrushes tucked behind my ears,
Oil Pastels staining my fingers and a rainbow of chalk dust on my clothes
Sometimes I wish I was an artiest;
With an eye for perspective
Or a talent for smearing ink hereabouts and everywhere
Just that tiny dot, Oh-so-careful-right-there!
Sometimes I wish I was an artiest;
That my hands could create scraggly, little doodles
On the corners of napkins and the edges of notebook paper
Perhaps even a beautiful masterpiece
After all, if I were an artiest,
My art could say a thousand words to one person
And a chiliad of completely