I can't paint you.

You’re pretty in a way art couldn’t explain.
I can’t paint you…
Nor do I want too; I’ve ruined beautiful things before.
You’ve fixed beautiful things before,
Mostly inside of me.

I know there are things in this world I am looking at wrong.
I need your picture to be my picture.
You see me for what I really am.
And you don’t leave?

It’s been weeks.
Can I ask you something?
If those legs are in fact painted on
where did you find paint that doesn’t run?

It’s amazing, the way you cover ground like a tornado
without ever moving a muscle.
I’ve seen you, spinning like a million windmills.
Paint me a picture already, stop mixing my words up.

When you tear up, the ocean swells.
Too much salt in your tears has left
you all washed out.
Your picture started to run when water was introduced.

It’s okay. We’ve destroyed beautiful things before;
You’ve fixed beautiful things before.
Left me with a paint brush…
I’m no artist… But I feel I can fix this.