A Portrait of You

Ryan Cleland (he/him)

You painted me the other day. 

A flurry of reds and oranges wove through my hair. 

Greens and blues filled the spaces around my hands, 

clutching that silly stuffed penguin I gave you. 

I can’t paint—not like you. 

I tried once. My hands trembled.

All I gave you was a thin, scratchy portrait. 

Clearly, art school is not for me. 

So instead, I write. 

If those who can’t do, teach, 

Then perhaps those without words, write. 

This is how I’ll reach you. 

You paint with such color. 

Your strokes are alive—vibrant. 

Even your mistakes seem to breathe.. 

How can my words carry that same intensity, 

The passion of your brushstrokes that set the canvas alive? 

I search for the right words— 

perfect phrasing, fitting metaphors.

But I wonder if the love I offer 

will ever match the depth and intensity 

you pour into each brushstroke 

and gift back to me. 

How can I match your swirling arcs and hues, 

the way you create with such a sweeping colour? 

So instead, this is my written portrait of you— 

the only way I know to capture it.