The Painting
A poem for pride and self-love
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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