Bleeding With Paint

I know it sounds stupid... but it's about my favorite paintbrush. It my thinnest detailing paintbrush... I also paint when I'm stressed out...

The bristles are.

Fine and soft, for them great care is needed.

Around them tightly wrapped is a ring of gold.

The bristles, they know stories, stories that have not been told.

The bristles, they have the power, the power which lets them unfold and bleed out.

The stories, bleed out they do, onto a canvas and be explained they can, in many different ways.

It can create pictures which are bright and bold.

On a canvas it creates something usually to be sold.

It adds detail so precisely and accurately.

It’s small, but as it crawls with paint on its end,

A picture it creates with a big message meant to be sent.

With blue painted wood, it can create a picture for good.

It runs, it crawls, it leaps, across the white, blank canvas.

Sometimes it’ll call your name, because it has a dream.

A dream to dance, dance with your hand.

On its end it will stand.

It makes your imagination prance. It makes it feel as if you’re under a trance.

It’s uncontrollable like an addiction, an addiction to painting.

Reviews

[_d e n i a l_]

omg thats all i can say i am in love i am very big on art

[Peyton Light]

I think you should have ended the fifth line with "lets them unfold". Other than that the wordage is very nice and it's very easy to enjoy this poem because of that :)

[Josie E. Cook M. A.]

I truly love this poem! So like me and my hobby--you have captured it here perfectly.
I applaud you!