Sunday, April 19, 2009

there is no canvas bigger

i turn around and fling open both doors, i search and search for paints, rummaging through my cabinet, stacked four high, on the back wall of my mothers art studio. clouds cover the sky, in acrylic. my eyes and hands seem confused and have lost all motivation and direction, all notion of what i want to create, like i could create what's in my head, if only it was that easy, i would be astonished. i can't seem to pick out the colours, i can't seem to find the right colours that my heart aches for, i'm baffled. slightly. i wish i could cram my hands inside my head, through my ears or something, and let the world see what i see. let my ear drums ring, let them hear what i hear. feel what i feel, i long to set you free. oh world, why can't i just set you free? i can't picture it any other way, as if someone ripped open my stomach, belly up, laying on a table, spread out, unable to move. paralyzed with some sort of freedom, setting my tiny organs at ease. my heart beats at a rather unusual pace, than it did before. than it ever has before. i'd spread my arms open, i let you take everything, from the inside out. remove my organs, hold my heart in your hand. you'd think i'd bleed to death, no. colours flowing through my veins, a mixture of blues and greens, yellow pastels and black inks, i take my hands into my chest, pull them out again, wipe them a cross the canvas, let my fingers tell you what i'm made of, because this is what i'm made of and this is all i am. take what you will, do as you wish, i am motionless. solitaire. lost in solitude. my hate and love don't blend the same. the colours aren't similar, or the lack thereof, their indifference. the shades, they pull away like two magnets. they push and pull but never touch, with out flipping to the other side. "always watch your back darling, for when it turns away, it's what they say then that matters." they are not the same. for the first time in a long time, my hate and love are not the same. separated by the reddest of reds, love like the colour of the sky, and hate the colour of the dirt traveling swiftly under my feet. we are all the same, no? we are all so different.

1 comment:

miss pg. said...

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