The Artist's Dilema

The portrait I drew of you
gazes
off to one side
an object to be studied

It does not stare me
straight in the face
as you so often do

But instead
is cast
in unchanging
contemplative regret

There is something in
the tilt of the light hitting its cheekbones
and the
almost-parting of its lips

You are so rarely found like that

I can still picture you
poised
as a blackbird on a telephone cable
your eyes so determinedly fixed
on some spot in space
in order to appear for this drawing

The purple
`velvet beret
perched just so
atop your rowdy mess of hair

My memories
do not frame you
sad
or even disturbed

And I wonder
worry
if perhaps it was my own feelings
and fears
which spilled through the pencil
and onto your features

Perhaps it was me
who crafted the shadows
beneath your eyes
and under your chin
and fixed the sullen slope of your shoulders

God no.

The black-framed visage
doesn’t look down on me
from the corner bookshelf
with such sorrow
that if feel
compelled
to rush upstairs in a panic
and find you

And reassure you,
and myself,
of my love and devotion
for you.
My younger sister

Never let me
draw you with such
a heavy heart
ever again

(So I'd like some constructive criticism, this is for poetry class and I'm thinking of using it for a final project, but obviously it needs some work :)