The Painted

Pastels or bold
I am a painting
Hung on your wall

Stare longingly
You don’t touch
Stay afar

I am flawed
Imperfect
You are satisfied

Looking approvingly
You’re happy this one is yours
You’re happy with yourself

Take me down
Put me up
I’m just another thing to you

Never interacting
You’re not an artist
And I’m not made of canvas

Instead, my arms grabbed my frame
My legs came down from behind
I suddenly stood on my own

Off the wall
Down the hall
Through the door

I am gone.

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