There is a painting of some forgotten queen

That hangs in the museum downtown

She watches stoically the patrons passing by

Her lips tight in neither smile nor frown

I’ve often admired her majesty

Though she may look homely by modern times

She is lauded as a work of fine art

In spite of the way her face creases and lines

They marvel at each pore and blemish

The cracks in her lips and the spots on her nose

The very things that I hide in my own face

Speak in brush strokes like beautiful prose

In evening I’ll walk down to the water

Where I sit in a wide wooden frame

Posing still in the light of the sunset

Like that queen, in painted stillness I reign

In that moment all my insecurities

Become dots of paint that combine

Into the most admirable work of art

The frame catches the water and shines

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