On a Spring Afternoon

Staring at the blank canvas

Her mind as empty as the page

There was a time when this was easy 

There was a time creativity was free

Desiring it to portray some deeper meaning

Fearing the judgement from those she let see

Looking at her supplies 

She contemplated which to choose.

The pencils gave her work a sense of realism

With structure, form, and shadows

Watercolor allowed for whimsical work

Its dreamy strokes emotionally evocative

Acrylics shout a strong story 

Brilliant colors and layers--its words.

Clay in the corner longed to make a statement

To sculpture masterfully an image.

Frustration became to climb 

For the choice seemed such a struggle.

"You're not listening to me"

She heard the whisper within her.

Sighing a heavy sigh, she knew- 

It wasn't for lack for trying.

"You're not listening to me"

she heard the voice grow insistent.

Closing her eyes, she waited

"This is so stupid, what a waste of time"

Why was her mind always much louder?

Ignoring it, she took a long breath

and released it; then she took another

"I just want some attention" 

the small voice urged more clearly

"What does it matter, the tools you use

Nobody but you needs to see"

Trusting that small voice was difficult

She buried it deep for a long forgotten reason

Opening her eyes

She reached for a paintbrush

Swallowing the paint and

Pulling it out before it drowned

Her brushed danced across the page

With each color it felt easier 

As picture began to develop

A playful feeling rose within 

Smiling, she allowed the brush to linger

"Thank you" 

Whispered the small voice.

Appreciation and gratitude replacing

The emptiness that existed mere moments before.

She stepped away for it needed space to dry 

And allowed herself to admire her creation

"I don't get it" 

Her confused mind scolded.

Feeling slightly anxious, and taking another breath

She was able to ignored her head once more.

"It's not meant to be understood" 

Spoke the little voice in response and 

Looking again, she remembered 

The painting that lay drying had

Expressed exactly what she needed to feel.