painting- a poem

My first love was a paintbrush and blue-colored paint.

My younger self adored the sky,

and because of that,

I loved the color blue.

The thing that keeps me going is my paintbrush and white paint.

I always run out of white paint,

my white paint disappears in a second,

like it has legs and has run away.

What I love is the way the brushes move on the canvas,

making shapes, texture, and telling a story.

Mountain ranges in dawn,

is one of my favorite things.

The oranges, reds, yellows, blues, purples, and greens,

make a beautiful painting in someone’s house.

My heart soars when I paint,

as if am floating in the air.

A rainbow of color,

and a rainbow of feelings.