No, that’s not it

I paint with a brush
the color of disappointment

It hangs in the museum
where everyone gazes
but few understand

Like darts on a board
every guess
they miss
interpret
what i mean

You can’t look at me
For I have swallowed the sun
And no one beholds the beauty
of the sun
with the naked eye

Nor understands
the shades
of disappointment
are the same color
as the ink of their pen