Draw shooting stars,
filling your canvas.
Let all you are
spill out onto the floor.

Clutch your brush
and take a deep breath.
Feel the numbing rush
quiet down.

Your painting flawed
from your distorted point of view.
All others stare in silent awe,
amazed by your work.

For where you see only wrongs,
they notice all the good.
You’ve been painting for so long
your mind knows nothing else.

Your tools, thrown now into the bin,
are rotting as you grow.
Wear your canvas proudly.
There’s so much more than painting
that you know.