The rebellious brush drops blobs of paint
speckling my masterpiece with muddy colour.
Perspective lost, I rip the canvas
I didn’t like the picture anyway

The face was pinched and
the shoulders hunched.
Standing alone looking lost.
Yes, it looked like me.

But even the flowers seemed askew
rebuking me for the dull sky
and the not so green grass.
Where were my rose-coloured glasses?

I blame the palette.
The colours that don’t comply.
Yet when I glance toward the mirror
I see the truth