.paint.

[breathtaking work by here ]

Words
drowning in paint:
there goes
"I".
there goes
"thought".
there goes
"much"
and "chance"
and "over" and
"less".

they are better off
in acrylics
than in my lips,
at least for now.

You see,
I'm unfortunate
enough to be a poet
not a painter.
rather than combining
pigments
to create meaning,
vague meaning,
the modern-art type of
meaning,
I am forced to invite
each and every of you
into the nakedness
of my monocromatic
straight-to-the-point skin,
just like that.

Wouldn't it be great
if my poems
were just splatters
which you'd all be
staring at right now?
Big splatters and
a tiny purple dot on a
porcelain white canvas.
You would be coming up
with absurd ideas
of what I meant.

"she must have been
pissed when she did that",
"I think she meant to
talk about love"
"I don't think she's the kind
that speaks of love"

Instead, I have to stay
here, before all of you,
and be brave enough
to put these words
together that mean

chest.

they mean

dream.

they mean I am so

tired.

they mean a stranger made me

smile

the other day.

They mean

it is ok,

it is ok??!

to let you all

in.

and it's ok if tired

means not giving up

of being

so helplessly strong

all the time.

they mean I won't be

judged

if I mispronounce something,

they mean I don't really

care

if I mispronounce because

I know you will find it

lovely
anyways,

they mean I am so

giving

I better

stop

giving,
before there's nothing left.