Compassionate self-talk

Tell me of your existential loneliness,

Of the fear of death

And feeling of despair,

When the night descends

Upon unfinished projects

And unsolved problems,

Each one vital.

Tell me of the stakes

Rising each morning,

Because you’re running out of time

And all the options are exhausted.

Tell me of your effort

Resulting in frustration,

Of reaching out

But remaining unseen and unheard

By those who have the real power

To give you a lucky break.

Tell me of feeling undeserving,

Unfit for life,

Defeated and bitter

As you’re growing older.

Tell me of disgust you feel

Towards those who have failed you,

Of your struggle to understand

How could they choose degradation

Over the life you planned together.

Tell me of your lonely tears

And being afraid

Of what you might see in the mirror.

Spit it out.

Hold nothing back.

You’re not inadequate

Or weak

Or unworthy.

You have the right to cry

And feel lost.

Now, aren’t you a bit lighter?

Some light will help too.

Here’s the lamp, the candles,

And those transparent plastic wings

With rainbow shimmer —

A Christmas ornament

Which hangs on your mirror

All year around.

What about those makeup brushes

And kits,

Paintbrushes and the palette?

All these things

Brighten you up.

Those wings are the reminder

That you can soar

Above the circumstances.

The paints are here

To do something special:

Finally add the eyes

To your dragons, foxes and the owl —

All dating many years back

To the time when your life at this place

Had just started.

Doesn’t it feel weird

That you had left them blind?

Was there anything

YOU didn’t want to see?

You know the answer.

Don’t blame yourself.

Just paint those eyes

And open your own,

All the way.

You’re ready.

Then put on that makeup —

Not to hide but to reclaim

The time consumed by drudgery.

To spoil yourself,

To play.

Strengthen the wings

Behind your shoulders,

And fly away —

To the place where

You don’t have to look away

To not feel awful.

You’re ready.

November 27, 2021. N.B.