Spilled Paint

I’m like the paint you try to re-do when you mess up,

The kind that streaks your canvas,

And makes you want to give up.

I’m the blue that bleeds into all the other colors,

Making them darker than you wish,

Forcing you to start again.

I’m the bubble of pigment that doesn’t seem to dry,

No matter how long it’s left in the sun.

I’m the painting left on the floor,

The one that helps you create what you first had in mind.

You’ll step over me as you hang the new,

And I’ll weep,

Knowing I was always too much for you.