Monday, April 7, 2014


I sit to paint a picture,
Of me, in my element,
Long gaping at the canvas,
No ideas seem to cement.
A female, I am, I conclude,
Do I owe me any props?
Is there the ideal mix,
Of the gains and the flops?
Successful, I decide to add,
Generous all the way,
Intangibles, I list many,
But, how do I portray?
A briefcase, do I depict
Or money illustrate?
Kids and husband in tow,
Joy, does it demonstrate?
While I ponder over these,
The blankness stares back,
In the nothingness, I settle
I am an unfinished abstract.
*A play on introspect


1 comment:

  1. this poem is great. i think every woman wonders about her life and how complete or abstract it may appear. hope all is well. have a great day~


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