I'm not really who I pretend to be
I'm not really angry at other people
I'm more angry at me.
It's just easier to reflect on them
as they are defenceless,
though it seems senseless
for them to be the object of my ire
while they sit patiently, waiting
to be object of my desire
It's simply easier for me to paint them
in water colours
that drip upon a canvas
that can't absorb it
than it is to mar the canvas of my life
with Oils, that appear more solid.