I cannot draw
At least not the way others do
I cannot find peace
Or a piece of me
In the stroke of a brush

The image in my head
Has never realized itself on paper
Instead of a masterpiece
It's a monstrosity
Something to avert your gaze from
Just like its creator

So instead
I choose to paint with words
Creating imagery so vivid
You cannot help but feel
As though you're truly there

Showing you the beauty of the rose
And the cherry blossoms
As their petals drift in the wind
Because while the fruit may one day grow
It does not fall far from the tree
And while the petal may soon wilt
It will get a taste
Of what it means to truly be free

Or telling you of the stories
Of those initials carved
On that one park bench
Some everlasting
While others drifting in the wind
Yet the bench shall always remember
The love and care
That ephemeral joy
In the hollows of its skin

For everything has a story
And everything has a past
And so I chose the pen over the brush
In the hopes of painting my own story
Creating an image so stunning
It will be carved in memory
For a lifetime to come