Sun beam Yellows

Sometimes I find myself staring at a blank canvas resisting the urge to fill the void with color. Aquas, tangerines, sun-beam yellows, black cherries, splotches of eye-popping jaw dropping reflections of light. Just for you. Someone has to reach out and close the gaps with happiness. I decided a long time ago I would be your own personal painter. I prepared- testing my palate, mixing to create shades.

Your life was already shaded. Jaded and cracked at the corners, peeling layer by layer, like an onion, me crying more and more as the pieces fell into crevices I couldn’t bend into. magnum opus – you weren’t. But, I thought I could sculpt you, chisel away at the rough patches and add mud to fill the missing parts.

No one can create you, except for you. I pray for the painter I used to know, the one I know you can be.

Bliss. Ah…those were the days the days my world was comprised of marigold-yellow sunshine and shimmery-glimmery rainbows. The days when I could get a bath without feeling guilty about the environment and run into my mom’s open arms, dripping and slipping all over the place. The towel used to fit all the way around me showing no 4-year-old skin. She’d walk me into my room, my very own living space, so I could put on my favorite pink dress, the one she bought me that I used to wear all the time. Memories. Swirling and mingling with my dreams and like a first date, I never know how they are going to end up.

I shiver silently now, much too old for my mom to wrap her arms around me after a shower. And that old towel…doesn’t quite fit me like it used to. Instead of slipping on that pink dress with the unicorn I slip into my old flannels. HE bought me these. And pretty much everything else I own. He doesn’t let me run into his arms when I’m dripping.