I wish to erase

Every sordid mistake,

Every slight flaw,

That sparked contempt;

In the eyes of those

I might have loved.

In the dark we see

All the things

That roam

In the darkest corners

Of our dim-lit minds.

We see the fears

We feel the hairs

On the back

Of our neck

Stand on end.

We hear

The voices

Not in our head

But a hair’s breadth

From our eyelids.

I think I may have lost my way

I’m in the woods, come out to play

The little people all they say

Is I'll be dinner for the fae.

The way is dark so follow me

I know a doorway in that tree

The woodland creatures all they say

Is I’ll be dinner for the fae.

A quiet bus serene and filled

with slow sounds of rain and slight chatter

music playing in your headphones

and the path of trees flying by

the bus is quite smooth today

we pass the next stop with a group of six girls,

the serene peaceful still and faint sounds

Burst into a loud corruption

Of chatter and gossip

The max volume of your headphones

cannot silent the girls

Your stuck like this until you arrive to your destination.

You speak of being offended by toxic positivity as you sit there in your Carhartt beanie choking down a chai latte.

As if you knew the impact of a “you should smile more.” Or “it can’t be that bad, cheer up!”

when you’ve just had your lip split open by a baseball bat. You never had blood gushing from your brow on the wet pavement or the world reject you. You have never known the courage it takes to stand up and start again with nothing but your integrity.

The worst thing that has ever happened to you was not getting exactly what you wanted from a phone call to mommy.

So yeah, fuck you and your entire facade. Trying to coin sympathy from a phrase that you could never possibly understand.

We pick up

the pieces

and put them back

together washed

and squared

and its

never

what it

was

but

who's

to say

that what

was

was

worth

keeping

anyway?

and the what

that remains ajar

the paste, polishes and paints

a more accurate picture

in the frames

of Yesterday...

The canvas's never blank

but is always man made

and she stands before Michaelangelo

where neither can speak

because the point of reference

divides

the two and the three

a spectrum of light

beamed

in excavation

between fossil and bone

the mind and the body

parting like foam

in the mouth

where life is

escaping

the blast...

white on white

05.16.2023

Suprematist Composition: White on White

Kazimir Malevich 1918

https://www.moma.org/collection/works/80385

Imitating Art challenge @TheWolfeDen

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(And now. . . my frostbitten Indifference.)