Abstract and exuberant with color, I hang on your wall

Next to your window.
Never tire of my brush strokes and forever standing still ballerina.
As reliant as the sun shining into your window tomorrow morning,
I’ll always be there for you, waiting and waiting.
Feel my smooth frame underneath your fingertips
As you take a deep breath.

Witness my oranges and yellows and peaches blend together
To make me, me.
Witness my lovely dancer as elegant as
the aroma of fresh dandelions.
Witness my longing for a different color scheme.

Sometimes my focus wanders out of the wide window
Wishing to see what is out in the dark.
I see my star, only wanting to go far
Yet I am stuck sitting hanging in my fixed stiff position.

I wish to be seen more than only my brush strokes,
Look between my ridges let’s cross some bridges,
And act like my ballerina is prettier than Mona Lisa.

My creator had made some mistakes, thereafter hidden under layers of paint.
You can try and rip layer after layer of pigment,
You will find nothing but a blank canvas.

You won’t find me in the most expensive gallery
With the finest polished wood surrounding me.
You will find me hanging on the scuffed white walls of her apartment,
Waiting for the sun to come up once again.