Brushstrokes upon the canvas
Drew herself in middle Kansas
Still wearing the bright red shoes
That sparkled like it was new.

Paint dries upon the coloured canvas
She felt like she needed more practice
As each paint spot smeared and smudged
But the brush held won't bend or budge.

The artist didn't change her imperfections
But described that each succession
Of brushstrokes that was made wrong
Was just the planned portrayal all along.

She says 'You see, people, we aren't perfect,
We may touch up with makeup on the surface,
But none of us is in anyway completely flawless,
So chaos,mess,destruction whatever you call this-

Just know it's a reflection of how humanity really is,
There's an edge, a curve, a bend,a bulge, a twist
And it is these mistakes that make us exists
As humans'.

She said as she took upon a new canvas
And freely painted her soul amongst the whiteness
And even though it might have been interpreted
As darkness or a dark-mess, to her it was her soul.