I was your canvas. You drew me perfectly.
Each curve was defined with such care. You were careful to avoid mistakes.
The stroke of the pencil was gentle to the touch. I felt safe.
The lead broke, so you took a break.
Months passed and you forgot about the painting. Then, one day, you came back to it. You were ready to paint it.
You gathered your colors. Oh how particular you were with those.
You grabbed your brush, started making the slightest strokes on the drawing.
You got excited with it.
You began to use all of the colors, but never followed the drawing you had made before.
As you were coming to the end of your painting, you realized how undefined it was.
The colors began to sink into the paper. “Shit.” your feelings towards this once beautiful drawing disappeared.
It was just… there.
I was just there.
You cared for me, kept me safe, loved me. Now, I am just the drawing you once were proud to call yours.
I was your canvas.
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Author:
Lizzie Lara (
Offline) - Published: August 24th, 2017 19:10
- Category: Sad
- Views: 27
Offline)
Comments5
I love this.... I understand totally
thank you so much.
WELCOME LIZZIE ~ Thanks for your very poignant first poem. I find as I grow older (I'm 33) the quality of a relationship fades and fails and we just become a (BLANK) CANVAS. I am relieved you inform us this is in the past and that you have "moved on" but it's never easy for Men or Ladies. Thanks for caring & sharing ~ I trust you found it cathartic. Thinking of you ~ Yours BRIAN (UK)
Were u a canvas or a moving target?
Good write. You are still there although you may be hidden from sight. Welcome to MPS.
i really do understand, you write so beautifully and so carefully juxtapose your writing x
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