If I Were to Ask You to Paint Me

If I were to ask you to paint me—

on a canvas stretched across a frame,

to hang upon a wall—

and if you’d use your palette of many colours,

I’d ask, if I may, that you choose your impressionist style:

the kind that suggests emotion

for the viewer to explore.

For I’m never quite sure

how I feel about this.

Would your brush strokes be bold?

For bold, I often feel—though not always.

And would your oils be generous?

Let red speak of my passion and love:

abundant, vibrant, sometimes sharp with anger.

Let orange glow with joy I feel but not often enough when doubt creeps in.

Oh, and green—be abundant.

Let it speak of the peace I seek

and sometimes find.

Let blue run soft and deep,

for I’ve lately embraced calm,

though I have not lost my sadness or melancholy.

You’ll find little need for purple—

for wealthy, I am not—

But I shan’t pretend that I’m not comfortable for I have a sense of security so a hint of brown will do

But—truth be told—

I’ve kept some feelings to myself.

What colours would you choose

for moodiness? For irritability?

For questions I’ve asked of my worth,

or the fear of loneliness?

Still—please paint me friendly,

with the lasting smile I wear so well.

I’d hate to put people off

as I hang there, on the wall.

Written for Berkhamstead Poet Society April 2025

Tulips colours