Shadows and Prisms

if my early life

was a painting

you would see

nearly everyone

approving of me

forecasting yellow

I was beaming

and friendly

to any and all

that came near

but behind the curtains

of that careful fasade

the colors were scribbled

and smeared

that “mess”

was pushed down

denied for the crowd

for my “happiness”

depended on them

what would happen

I wondered

if tears

replaced smiles

and I showed the

darkness within

the scribbles

got antsy

they started pushing

right through

and begged

me to cut

their way free

that compulsion

denied

but the remnants

left me drowning

at sea

midnight blue water

energy gone

they saw red

while my glasses

were gray

with my last

gulp of air

my voice cried out

“I’m not sure

I can go on”

help arrived

I survived

as she helped

me mend

my wounds

darkness still

sneaks in

at times

nearly as heavy

as before

the coping skills

the med

the therapy

they help me

stay afloat

more than that

I once again

feel the gentle breeze

of hope

my painting

is prismatic

but shadowed

a masterpiece

nonetheless

as the darkness

and pain

endowed depth

and compassion

known only by a few