Where To Begin

I am an angled paint brush, 

with densely packed bristles.

Lost on a blank canvas,

looking through my fluffy edges where to start.

Where to start, I have no clue.

There are no guidelines of graphite

for me to fill.

And certainly no hand for my back

to fall into.

So instead I hold myself up,

making predictions of what you might like to see.

But my assumptions of acrylic can turn to ruins,

which will ruin my shot at being a showpiece.

But I can’t read your mind,

so how am I supposed to ace your rubric?

When all you did was leave me—

with a blank canvas and a palette of colors

with infinite combinations.