The Paintbrush

Sleek and elegant

Was what she was

No Dollarama purchase of corroded plastic thistles

She was the real deal.

You could read the “Genuine sable hair”

On the side of her sleeve and you wouldn’t doubt it for a second.

And so I spent so long wanting to be what she was.

Genuine.

Clever to a fault.

She wore Starry Night like it was painted for her waist

And no matter what it was you threw at her

She walked out of it with a

Master’s Degree.

So not me.

Because while I fumbled with the volleyball

Contemplated why my life seemed so small

She swept the floor with her paintbrush.

Magnificent and daring

She made certain stars shine brighter

And the universe seem greater

Like that was what true talent was.

But then I got to know her.

She was more awkward than I thought;

Not intentionally pretentious.

She laughed a lot;

Made jokes she told me not to look up the meanings of.

She was careful and yet careless

Knew just how far was too much.

Bullshitted the life out of homework assignments

Yet always knew her stuff.

She never seemed afraid

When I was close to panic attacks

And though calm and undisturbed

She could read the room with a word.

Masking crises with comedy;

Not shy but not loud

She learned to be proud

Of who she was

And who she wasn’t.

She was not the paintbrush

But the hand behind it.

And all this time I thought I needed

Some fancy equipment

To be like her

To be half of what she was in my eyes

But she was not the paintbrush.

She was the hand behind it

Using every tool within reach

To create a masterpiece.

And I realized it didn’t matter

What materials I had at my disposal

You are never the paintbrush

But the hand behind it

And if I wished to be the same

It is not talent I required

But a heart

That’s not afraid

Of getting stronger.

r.k.

#poemforyourthoughts #thepeopleyoumeet