Slam Poetry

I Am A Painter

I am a painter. But I am also a canvas. My paint brush? A knife. Yes, you may have heard that before, "The story has a twist. Her paint brush was a knife and the canvas, her wrist." But it is the truth. I am a painter. But, I am also a canvas. I decorate my canvas with abstract lines, never quite making a picture. Only painting a picture of pain. A picture of confusion. A picture you may never quite understand. How can someone get to the point where they are in so much pain, they paint upon themselves? The red and white lines covering their body from head to toe. How can someone look at the blank canvas and say, yes, a red line here is what is needed. And they as a painter, watch as the red lines they placed upon themselves heal - closing, mending, disappearing - being replaced by white lines. How can someone look at their canvas, at their body, at themselves, and think, I need more white lines. I need more white lines. How can they yearn for more? More painful pictures. More confusing lines strewn across the canvas. But you can't always see the picture. You can't always see the abstract lines, streaking across the canvas. Streaking, slicing, bleeding, healing.

Repeat.

Streaking, slicing, bleeding, crying...

Repeat.

Cutting, screaming, bleeding, sighing...

Repeat.

Slashing, piercing, scratching, relieving...

Repeat.

Cutting, screaming, bleeding, sobbing.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat. Why.

Repeat. Why. Why. Why?

Oh, dear Jesus, where are you? My faith is wavering in You.

Faith. It seems like such a simple thing. Five random letters, f-a-i-t-h, mashed together to make a word. One small word. Google defines it as, "strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof." Merriam Webster, "strong belief or trust in someone or something". Simple definitions, yes? But really, there is much more meaning. Faith. Believing in something that is actually there, but you can't see. Faith. Believing in something that is actually there, but you can't hear. Or feel. Or smell.

How can one have faith in something they can't see, or feel, or hear, or smell? How? How does one believe in something like that? Calling out to a God they don't know if He actually hears. Praying to a Savior, who they trust will watch over them... But aren't entirely sure He is actually there. Night after night spent, crying out, "Why, oh why, God? Why me? Why do I have to go through so much pain." Practically screaming inside their head at Him. Screaming for peace. Screaming for silence. Screaming... for relief. But they hear nothing. And on the outside? Peace. Happiness. "How are you always so happy?" People ask. "Man, I wish I could be as happy as you."

Don't you see? I'm not. But that's just what you see. The forced smile that seems so real. The scars that are just from my cat. The fake light in my eyes, that I've perfected over the years. If you start to dig a little deeper, tap on the weak parts of me, I'll push you away. No, you can't get to know me. No, you can't ask if I'm okay. Even though I wish to scream out the truth that I only wish to die. The few scars on my arms are not from my cat. They are part of my painting. The rest of the picture hidden, beneath the clothes upon my body.

Let me ask you a few things. Four "what ifs" echo through my mind. You know the deadly "what ifs" we all think through. The scenarios we wish would happen, but never will. So we torture ourselves with these thoughts.

One. What if for once we could just speak what we want to? What if our thoughts just came together into cohesive sentences? If just once, when someone asks, "What's on your mind?", we can speak it. We can understand it. We can talk through it. What would you say?