I thought of being an artist
A career I’ve always dreamed
But perhaps I wasn't the smartest
It wasn’t as it seemed

The lines disconnect and break
These colors a garish hue
A piece most bleak and fake
Is one I always rue

My hands mislead my mind
Unable to recreate for me
The picture I imagined, I find
This frustration a hefty fee

Art is expression, or so they say
But how can I express, I ask,
When my art only blocks the way
And proves a more daunting task?