I am the dry water color
Ready to fade on demand
Ready to join the others
In a cup of brown water

She isn’t a fan of painting
Instead she grips a marker like a mother fucker
Lays down dark lines so thick she must have mushed the tip
When her nose runs she rubs it, without a care her hands are covered in ink

I can’t even be jealous
The dark green of envy is a color not found on my palette
At best I can give you twice washed grass stain wishful thinking
In the face of her wild creation I’d be boring motel wallpaper

This is not a story often repeated
Where the mild mannered quiet boy
Dreams beyond his means and mopes

I will come again
I can dry up like a river bed and in a flash flood
Be back in full bloom
While those markers are in the landfill
Fat tips or not
No amount of moisture will sprout art from their carcass
This tortoise will paint them a faded memorial
To go with their faded memory
In the head of a girl who pressed too hard
Bled through too many sheets of paper
Wasted her supplies before she could master them

Oh yes this is a story of revenge
The murdering of stereotypes
The crushing of where you thought this would go
That road is closed, the meek shall inherit the earth
But only after the long lasting softly strong mother fuckers give it up