The Sketch

The ebony pencil marks up the ivory paper It's silent strokes fill the page With hopes of a better portrait Than the girl was given to begin with. Its strokes collectively make up the face of a girl A face of pure skin and pouty lips Perfect in idea And perfect in the image of the girls mind. Shimmering hair reaches for the girls back As it grasped to her perfect scalp The tiny strands fill the head of the girl in the picture Like a JEWELIZED crown upon a beauty queens head. A slender figure fills the page The limbs reaching for her sides The snake like fingers perfect for the hold of a man While her hips and chest plaster themselves In the perfect hourglass shape. The dark skies fill her vacant eyes As they search your soul for the truth And allow you to see her passionate soul. The eraser covers any imperfection As it gently glides over each mistake With skin perfect And eyes so beautiful no man can resist her. She is perfection at its best She is exactly what every man dreams She's a self-portrait Made by a broken girl and shattered soul. She is what the artist wished to be. She is what I wish to be.