Painted Pure

They abused the beautiful
right out of her,
and skewed the truth
until she doubted words.
So,
if she’s worth a worry now,
we can’t be sure.
Seems her worst work is blurry,
but it’s painted pure.
Brought forth from the bristles
of her broken brush,
as she sighs through the splinters
brought by hope and trust.
Still,
she clings for the sake of creating.
More than morose,
she stays patiently waiting.
For a fresh breath,
or bluer sky.
Too crestfallen to truly decide.
If her work’s worth the worst of it,
or maybe,
she should put the paints aside.