SELF-PORTRAIT AS A PAINTING

My colors made me who I am.

I’ve been mixed and swirled

in a whirlwind; my hues

blended and transformed to create new

shades within me, and intricate patterns

to hide behind.

I’ve been finished, preserved, and framed

just the way they want me

to be. And hung up on

Display.

Self-exposing technique and form.

Some walk by without a second glance,

while others —

others see my market value

stopping in admiration.

Some for an extra

long stare.

Some for minutes, or hours

of examination and exploration.

Others come back for months, or

marvel for years. What

they've found is genuine, authentic.

But am I enough

to be theirs

forever?

Will I ever find a home

warm enough to keep me safe

stable enough to hold me steady?

Will I ever have a place to

rest my head, knowing that

even within shaking walls

there will always be a place

where I belong,

and one of those admirers to adore

all of my mixed-up hues?

To cherish

even my sharp edges,

cracks and crevices?

Someone who knows that sometimes

the most battered paintings

are the most worthwhile?