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The Painting

A poem for pride and self-love

By Canan DevorakPublished 3 years ago 2 min read
The Painting
Photo by Harry Quan on Unsplash

From genesis to coming of the age

My dormant cones left vision monochrome

In black and white my mind could not engage

Nor would it be allowed by life in Rome

The model life, my predetermined fate

A painting forced to hang upon my wall

The varied tones of grey and lines so straight

I walked pristine as their complacent doll

Though never had the thought found me before

Of different possibilities and truths

Implying not the now’s inferior

But rather mine contrasting other youth’s

Discomfort set my entity alight

Compelling me to paint the picture white

How to start on canvas blank and fragile

Newly gained control left us at standstill

Grab the brush and swipe across the portrait

Red, the word remembered without notion

Parts of me emerging from the closet

People not evoking one emotion

Love and lust, while disregarding gender

I’ve no drive or want for that connection

Although friends and parents know love’s splendor

Friendships are enough without affection

Orange sparks my talent literary

English, French, then Japanese and Russian

Write creatively and arbitrary

Thoughts expressed here with no repercussion

Yellow sends my brain abuzz unceasing

Energy unfocused is increasing

Green desires everything unraveled

Understanding this world’s inner workings

Comprehend cells’ processes and scaffold

Learn philosophy and math and coding

Blue adverse brings existentialism

Nihilistic thought combined with sadness

Amplify depression like a prism

Panicked thinking with a pinch of madness

Purple, auditorily exquisite

Music from my voice or through my headphones

Making magic from the orchestra pit

Sounds that range from seventh chords to tritones

Taking several backward steps observing

Viewing every angle, pathways curving

Here before me sits a hanging canvas

Colors clash together imprecisely

Still, perceiving them at all is progress

Though they might not interface so nicely

As the days and years go by however

Color will envelop and surround me

Worlds are introduced from my endeavor

Moving onward till I have outgrown thee

When again I view that mess of color

Shocked am I to find an alteration

Change occurred, but pigments are not duller

Rather they’ve collaborated, complemented, and expanded far beyond the borders, orders set for them to make a masterpiece for adoration


About the Creator

Canan Devorak

I am an amalgamation of many things - some weigh me down while others lift me up - which makes me a mess. Yet, despite all odds, I am still here.

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    Canan DevorakWritten by Canan Devorak

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