Battle with Smalley
Pigment to paper
What to draw?
Flirty flowers in bunches?
Happy trees?
Lost in the snowstorm white
of the page
Oh, the pressure!
What’s the purpose?
What’s the point?
Like breath,
inventing a vision,
a necessary task.
Insults slam and accost my head
and heart like the marker bleeds.
I punch back with
self affirmations
Yes, doggone it, I’m good enough
There is reason for this art
I will not stop
Listen to my story
Like me
I’m worth it.