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.