#65

April 20, 2011 § Leave a comment

You were impressed by the painting I hung on the door
The silence was enough to call to you
through the rattling of sidewalk tap dances
Colors, enough to speak to you
through the unchoreographed chaos, drawing your arms in
as though the depths of color were a magnet for the back of your spine
as though its abstract lines were the perfect shape for the missing piece in your puzzled soul
But instead of seeking self-completeness, you poured
your own molten gold over the cracking frame, hung it straight
And stepped inside
(Without noticing the rusty hinge)
and I
Began to coat the walls in canvas
To match everything you loved because
You spoke words into my paintings that I never got to hear and yet
Never wanted to end, and anyway
Everything was more beautiful
when it was the way you loved it
And everything was almost truthful
when I became what hadn’t first existed
And as we walked down the hallways of I Didn’t Know
I found flannel sheet comfort in your company
Enough to cautiously drop the drapes from my
Masterpieces, one by one –
The ones
that no one had seen for fear no one would love
Because the truth is ugly if you can’t handle it and I,
I was Oliver with a twist – hoping
For one more spoonful of unsweetened heart and soul
And I was little Annie unorphoned,
Blessed with a benefactor of words and arms before
Accidentally,
I unveiled not only beauty in paint,
But the cracked walls and broken frames that hid beneath those drapes
and now I am standing amid the shambles of my beautiful masquerade –
Some convoluted compilation of Spirit, time and place
Vulnerable
and I’m afraid that you don’t love me anymore.

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You are currently reading #65 at Authored Angioplasty.

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