the soul as a color



I

imagine the soul as a living…

well, thing.

some type of thing.

nobody’s really sure what

it looks like

in fact, every being molds their

soul into some kind of shape,

over time,

and effort,

and non-effort,

and what they do -

and what they don’t do

but the truth is,

the fact,

is that a soul is alive

and it has a form.

and when you prick that form,

or stomp on it,

or slash it,

it bleeds.

it bleeds in the color,

or colors,

that best describe its owner.

II

but sometimes, we don’t want

people

(or one person)

to know what that color is.

because sometimes, we all feel

that color isn’t what it’s

“supposed”

to be.

for me, -

no, not that...

for my classmates

when I was young,

I felt myself bursting,

brighter than was

allowed

and put my struggling,

radiating

core in a dark forest

green bag

and they never saw it.

(I didn't either)

for that girl in new mexico,

I splattered my soul

deep blue

she hated the light,

so I darkened myself.

if she pricked my soul,

I would bandage it,

so much so that

I suffocated it slowly

over 3 long years.

my point is,

sometimes,

we hide what

makes us real.

III

I almost died

5 times

between the ages

of 18

and 24

my whole being and psyche

(whose etymology

may surprise you)

toed lines between

fully empty

and

softly explosive

schizoaffective disorder

(bipolar type)

I saw hell

(hell is indeed red,

as you’ve imagined -

though that doesn’t

reflect on the color

itself)

death is a funny thing

no, really -

you can laugh

in its face

it makes it easier

to keep it

at bay

but what being

that close

to 0blivion

does, is it

turns the soul

inside out.

there’s no way to hide it.

after my fourth

brush, I decided

I would leave it that way.

leave it in the light of day.

no sense in hiding

what’s right there -

better to brag than

to pout.

So I scraped off the blue

gave away the green bag

and pulled out my soul

to show it around.

IV

it’s the color of a sinking star

dragging across clouds.

it’s blinding at first,

it’s sharp

and round.

it’s a drumkit from

led zeppelin, in

the ‘70s at madison

square garden.

I am not the deeps

of the ocean

nor the bowels

of the forest

remember when I said

that the soul is alive?

Mine is a fireball,

busting with animation

what casts shadows

around a bonfire

in the intolerable night

I hid for so long

the orange of my soul

but now I burn

in the depths

I flame

in midflight

I, for better

or worse, for

all to see, am

alight