I’m the portrait that wants to exist

but the paint is just too light.

I cannot be bright enough

for the world to see and admire.

I’m as white as this easel,

that’s if you ask me,

I don’t know what you see.

Where can I find it?

The vividness that will show

how alive I am?

It seems like these brushes,

brushes that should dance around

make me more than expectations

are to wet to hold brightness,

wet enough to deem my Art.