a different sort of art?

such frustration. . .
so many images,
perhaps illustrations to accompany what i write,
perhaps just things that come to mind. . .
but these hands of mine,
they know better how to create these images with words ranther than lines,
strokes,
curves,
colors. . .
to see my thoughts put to paper,
i must suffer seeing them brought to life by another's hands -
or to see them horribly deformed and disfigured by my own clumsy hands,
these hands that cannot create what my mind sees