I'll be the one scratching
with an old but valued pencil
when you're all painting portraits
with your lives.
Maybe one day,
you'll find an eccentric
but wonderful enthusiast
to whom you may name a price
but I'll still be sprawled out on my floor
trying to perfect what isn't there
and taking it upon myself
to create on what is bare.

Art is subjective
but if I am its subject
then it could only ever possibly
be blank.
My brushes and
utensils
are repulsively plain and I have only
myself to thank.

Again.