a line
a curve
a dash of color

red here,
blue there

stubby little hands
broken, dirty fingernails
make futile attempts
to peel off the paper
of a diminishing crayon

I’m just a human face
flawed
maybe even dehumanized
by innocent hands

but I am “perfect”
and so I am perfect

voices ooh and ahh
mother coos
father beams

I am this “masterpiece”
I am this work of art
I do not see what is so grand
I am just scribbles,
a stick figure
with nothing but dots for eyes,
hardly a smudge for clothes

My world is empty
I have nothing
but the most elementary of colors and surroundings
to fulfill me

But yet
I am so highly praised
I am hung on the wall for all to see

and my creator
with his tubby hands
and his gap-toothed smile
and his enthusiastic squeal
he is proud of me
and so I am perfect