Sunday, April 3, 2011
Written in appreciation of the ones who hold me.
The Ones Who Hold Her
She struts around so full of herself--like every stroke, every word is heaven-sent. She thinks she's such a talented artist. Well, she's just a brush.
They grab her by the ankles, turn her upside down, dunk her in paint, and wipe her hair back and forth against a blank canvas. She is just a brush.
If you ask me, the ones who deserve all the credit are the ones who hold her.