Blank Canvas Poem

Blank Canvas

I'm no longer an artist,

So consider me a fool for my words.

But the mind is a canvas,

And this canvas has an artist.

Every canvas should.

They paint their thoughts,

Their emotions.

Their worst fears and insecurities.

Yet I'm scared of the canvas.

Whenever I would paint, in response would 

be pain.

So I stopped painting.

And as such my canvas grew

Blank.

Fear drew me away from the canvas.

That fear I'll screw up.

That fear I'll become a failure.

Everyone said my canvas was

spectacular,

Yet I never wanted to see it.

I know the reason why

My canvas grew blank,

But it's one hidden between that new white Paint.

It washes away old phobia,

And starts me anew.

You see I used to entertain,

Painting this canvas of mine.

Yet I would copy the picture,

 Each individual line.

Everyone thought it was fine,

But they were wrong.

Controversy, politics,

Everything was wrong.

It wasn't me.

And yet I craved release,

But I would paint on it still.

I enjoyed those reactions.

I was gaining an audience,

However pitiful they may be.

Yet one day,

After raking that brush across the canvas,

It began to cry.

"Please!

I beg of you, please leave me be@

I grow old of your antics.

You're not a true artist,

You're a sham.

You have greatness locked away,

Yet still you settle by society.

It isn't harmonious.

It isn't right!

So why do as if you must?!

Inspire, 

Create.

I wish for more.

I wish for

You."

And as such, I made the canvas blank.

It scared me, seeing it express

Myself.

That blank canvas

I thought I'd never touch again.

Yet for some reason,

I'm drawn towards it

This lone summer day.

I pick the brush up,

Dip it into my paint,

And for the first time I remember,

I paint my truest face.