Learn Another Language

Solitude. A place of my Own To be Alone Silence or Pounding Music Blocking out the Outside world Soft, damp Color on my hands Sticky as it dries Cool, wet paint smears Brushing my hair back Worn, wooden paint brush Rough, peeling Starting to Rust Familiar to my hand Gliding, Gliding Over Clean, white canvas Fumes not Good Not Bad. The Scent of fresh Paint. There And Loved. Inside I am Alone Alone, but Never lonely Like the mirrors of a Carnival Distorted, I Am. There is Angry and There is Sad and there Is Hyper and there is Smart Sometimes Angry and Sad hang out And their complaints Create that Pounding, Pounding, Aching Pulsing Pain in my Head Behind my Eyes and in My Heart. Sometimes Hyper overrules the Others And Smart sits in the Back row Quietly Calculating the Costs Because Smart is also Cold and Alone Observing Life through a Window Hyper can Chatter Away Occasionally Forgetting how to make Proper Words in Her Excitement.

Request permission to use this poem

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write