I am painting a portrait

I was painting a portrait of my FRIENDS
But instead

I am only portraying what I THINK
I SEE

There is so much I DON’T see

My words
They don’t portray the friends at all
They only portray how I SEE them
They only portray ME

Is there a painter WHO paints what IS
Not what is SEEN?

Would you have to be HEARTLESS
Would you have to be FEARLESS
Would you have to be THOUGHTLESS

Let’s face it
I am painting a SELF portrait

I am sorry Mr Confucius
I have broken the world

It fell apart into ten thousand pieces
of a crystal glass
It dissolved into ten thousand grains
of a dry sand castle
It frayed into ten thousand threads
of a silk cloth

Words became sounds with no meaning
Hugs turned into meaningless sensations
Faces changed into mute colours

The terrifying truth of deep reality
The loneliness of complete unification

The old sages lied
There is no peace in truth

You were right Mr Confucius
The woman's job is to weave

in the world that moves so fast
our bodies do not keep up
and the instincts that
served us so well
lead us astray
everyday

One must choose carefully
When choosing a friend

Friends tend to get close
They are hard to defend
Yourself from them

Some nourish you
And some **** you dry

Some leave you when you need them
To some, you say good bye
But they don’t leave

So carefully chose
Take your time to select

The best from the multitude
And then once more check
Is this the right way to
think?

You are a multitude
And so is he

You are very different
With him and with me

Anyone can be your best friend
or the worst of the foes
So make friends with the friend
and ignore the blows

Chose the person inside
that feels like your brother
Nourish them and you’ll never
need to see the other

You are a multitude
And so is he
A universe of potential
An ocean of personality

I don’t write
That implies some creative act
Instead
I catch the thoughts as they pass by
Bottle them into shapes
And display them
Hoping for the oohs and aahs

I don’t write
That’s too peaceful
I  stalk the words
I wrestle with them
Hold them down
For posterity
And for fame

I don’t write
I beg
For acceptance
For appreciation
For validation
For me

I remember when things used to happen in the future
The dreams, the hopes and the worries

Suddenly things stared to happen in the past
The memories, the victories and the regrets

How did I miss the time when the they were all happening now?

I know I should be grateful
I have got everything and anything
I ever wanted

And yet the itch doesn’t go away
And yet enough
does not have a place in my vocabulary

I know I should be grateful
Gratitude has a power to heal it all

To take the itch away
To allow me to be content

So why doesn’t it come?

What, oh what
are the conditions
for the emergence of gratitude?

It is at night when the blessed madness comes
to free the sky for the soul to dance
And now you can howl so happily
Despair and joy indistinguishable