the first time
what was it? thirteen? no, twelve years ago?
the first time i sat here i was just a kid
and this small, confined space was revolting
there were three of you, that day
and then the next time, only one
i still don't understand the purpose
of that little congregation
the first time
it was more like a job interview
with intense, probing questions
and three judges i had to impress
except, let's be real,
my words probably made a lasting
impression on the other side of the spectrum
my bad
the first time,
i told you why i could go on
despite what i felt and had seen and been through
my brain does a good job at blocking it
the second time,
and the third,
and the sixteenth
and the fiftieth
my brain did the thing
a swipe of a brush came with a lie
the mixing of a colour came with a shrug
you wanted me to paint it out
out of resources
to make me spill
you tried your favourite tactic
it works with the difficult kids
i painted that day
what did you expect to see?
a blood splattered wall of my house's den?
the rusty hammer i had clutched in my hand?
i bet other people's paintings
showed you their tragedies
allowed you to interpret their few words
and the swirling of emotions on the brush
but all i painted was a galaxy
nebulae and stars that came together
on the canvas so innocently
you asked me to paint, right?
you stared at it
what were you supposed to do with it?
how can you give a negative interpretation
to something so bright?
but thats where you were wrong
and i told you six years ago,
before i made the switch
that even a castle is nothing in space
how simple minded did you expect me to be?
my brain had worked so hard to shield me
from the tragedies its seen
did you think it would suddenly slip?
space is a vast array of nothingness
and yet it contains all my fears
the reds are anger
the black is grief
i made an appointment today
i won't see you
i won't paint an astronomical dream
and i promise, gitty, i will speak
my brain is tired of shielding me now,
and i can hear your reprimands
i told you, it isn't healthy
well, like painting to vent was?
the first time,
an eternity ago, i spoke with a somber face
an attempt at derision gone bad
lips quivering in their shaky flat line
gitty, i made an appointment
