Dear, Art Teacher

Dear Miss Art Teacher,

I pen this note to you in fear,

For in our class, this talent of mine,

Only clumsy strokes and unsteady line.

My colors smear, a mess I make,

Not quite Rembrandt, a phony, a fake.

I watch my peers with shades of green,

Their brushstrokes flow, just like a dream.

I've tried my best to learn Picasso,

But my shapes no good, a jumbled fiasco.

I long to channel The Master's ease,

Yet I struggle with the simplest frieze.

And dear Miss Art Teacher, don't think I forgot,

I admire Frida with all I've got,

But my attempts to capture her style,

Left me feeling painful denial.

My works of art, oh, such a mess,

I feel they cause you such distress.

But deep within me, there is a fire,

A burning need to fix this mire.

To learn and grow, to find my own,

To see my talent slowly hone.

For art is not just names long gone,

It's in my heart, my dearest song.

So dear Miss Art Teacher, do not despair,

For I promise to work with utmost care.

In your class, I find my inspiration,

You are the heart of my artistic foundation.

With your guidance and gentle touch,

I'll forge my way, though it asks much.

And one day, perhaps, my name will join,

The likes of Rembrandt, Frida, and artists long gone.

Yours truly, with all my heart,

The striving student of your art.