Posted by: Devin | February 28, 2015

The Paint-mess That Is Me

The bathwater’s lukewarm,
an unforseen disappointment,
but the tea is hot,
and salts will still osmo-ize
while toxins file out.

Relaxed, I let thoughts wander
as I gaze into my cup.

A ripple every heartbeat,
a wave with every breath.

Am I the paintbrush or the canvas?
Am I Eschered into both?
Am I the puzzle
or the keyring,
am I locked to them or me?

Colors blend from every instant,
whirlpooled into me.
Making the most lifeless color,
brown, like trampled mud.
But, followed back,
tracing the pathways,
parts become alive.
Colored splatters on life’s palette
combined to make the whole.

The muddied,
ever learning,
paint-mess that is me.


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