How easy it is to paint people
With one color,
With one broad brush.
Over time the various
Colors on your palette
Swirl together to form globs
Of gray.
And now your monochrome
Judgement renders your world
A bleak, barren desert of ashes.
No longer do you see the world and its
People in its colorful splendor.
Some become acclimated to this dulled
Perception that has taken hold.
A perception that dominates the
Senses and gradually turns the brain
Into gray mush.
Undead they become, starving creatures
With the urge to devour.
To hurt.
No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.

Others, thankfully, know better.
Palettes must be cleansed regularly,
Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off
With patience.
Then fresh paint is restored.
Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge
Passed down by models to the artist.
Yes, we are artists.
We paint the world as we deem fit,
Plastering on others one’s own
Values, morals, and ideals.
But the true masters of this craft go beyond,
Discerning the vast spectrum of colors
That compose a human soul.

But that takes time.
Years of experience and keen observation.
But possible.

They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.
I like picking at my scabs and sores,
Each one an emblem of the battles I’ve fought.

Some people find solace in Summer
With its mirage that all is right.
But I thrive in the chilled Winter,
Relying on my inner warmth and light.

Go ahead…

Call me a dark cloud raining on your parade.
Call me a moping miser wallowing in pain.
Call me a bloated tick thirsty for attention.
Call me a filthy sinner unworthy of redemption.

Flimsy words deflected by my impervious mettle.
Don’t you know steel hardens in the furnace?
Leave me be, let the storm rage then settle.
Only then will I break the water’s surface.

Afterwards, I’ll mount a drifting log and ride along
Down sorrow’s stream until I reach the estuary.
Where purity meets the brine from tears’ song
And entrust my fate to the ocean currents to carry.

Humanity always seeking absolute bliss,
Condemning suffering to fathomless pits.
But under the covers of sleepless nights
Amid the sobs, wails, and blistering spite…

Out emerges a self-revelation,
A subtle truth whispered in the dark.
Cathartic release through meditation
Only bestowed by sorrow’s mark.

They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.

There comes the golden trumpet
With its boorish tune.
It claims that brimstone is falling
From the heavens, threatening
To mar all that is pure and white.
All are spellbound by his naked words
Stripped from the usual ethereal facade.
Promise of prosperity rings in their ears,
Since the land of milk and honey has run dry.
But wait…
Look at the hunger in his eyes,
A fervent lust for power and glory.
Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered,
Burning like coal in a blazing furnace.
Look at the cohort he assembled,
Corpulent swine from the swamp.
Surely, he has the mob in mind.
Throw chocolate to keep them quiet.
Put on a show to divert attention.
For the truth is glaringly clear,
We have been played for fools.

When the smoke subsides…
A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.

Be a man
Said the father to his son,
Men don’t cry,
To this social construct we
Must abide:

Masculinity –
Equated with strength and
Emotional reserve

Femininity -
characterized by
Fragility and sensitivity

What if strength is much more?
What if strength has no gender?

Strength

The ability to be yourself
And pursue your aspirations despite
Social pressures and ridicule

Strength

To maintain composure and show restraint
When feeling threatened rather than allowing
Fear or anger wrest control.

Strength

To sympathize and tolerate
Those who think differently than you.

Lioness prowling the savannah
While the lions enjoy their slumber.

She twists and turns under sheets and covers.
Sleep evades her as fire burns her cold skin.
Darkness shrouds like tapestries of terror
Warding off consoling light –
“Let me in… let me in.”
Boards creak and nails scratch the walls
Inching its way towards its fidgeting prey.
A monstrosity stands before her eying the
Trembling body –    
“Let me play…let me play.”
It leans forward to her ear and whispers,
“I know what you’ve done, what a shame,”
Its serpentine tongue licks her cheek.
“I thought you were better, free from blame.
But you’re like the rest, foul and unclean,
A lump of mass and unfit to live.
Unworthy of redemption, so obscene –  
Let me give… let me give.”
Sobs erupt from her quivering lips and gasps
For air from the weight of her filthy sin.
It caressed her hair with its skeletal, scaly
Hands, and kindly asked to
“Let me win… let me win.”
But a streak of light from the rising morning
Sun sent Guilt back into the dark.
A new day, a new beginning, an
Opportunity for a fresh start.
But from the depths of what has been,
There it waits for you to
*Let it in… let it in