but I cannot draw

I draw conclusions right and wrong

My judgments can be poor.

I draw a bath. I draw curtains

But I cannot draw.

I draw in air. I draw blood

When the scab’s knocked off my sore.

I draw upon my inner strength

Yet I cannot draw.

Sometimes I draw a long bow

When restraint goes out the door.

I draw laughter and anger too

And sometimes the short straw.

I would love to be a Picasso.

My drawings all adored.

But as it is I am me

And alas I cannot draw.