Picasso

Picasso

I wish I had a reason for living

I wish I had answers for life

I often wish I was an artist

So I could slosh paint violently all over a giant canvas

Taking out every single piece of frustration and pain

Slapping it, moving it, putting it exactly where I wanted it to go

Right out there in front of God and everyone

Such a healing form of transparency

Such a marvelous form of deep confession

Someone would pay out handsomely for it all

Bringing me a sense of justice and restoration

I could take all of that money from my creative maelstrom

I could drink myself into one nice coma

Or maybe I could take my prize

Build a grand hotel on the coast, in the quiet fog

To let all the rest of the wandering ones rest

But then I would need the entire California coastline

For all of us to have our place in the cooling mists

Altruistic or a giant disgrace

Those seem to be my choices right now

In this imagined place of the heroic

This imagined place behind my brow

Deep in the confines of my heart and soul

I could use the colors to show the depths of the bleeding

Things much deeper than shallow crimson

These things are black, and a deepest black

Pieces and parts of me

Blue and bruised from repeated attacks

I’m not quite sure where my shield was

Stuck outside of space and time would be my guess

Waiting for my appropriate and timely confession

Waiting for my chocolate chip cookie recipe to be perfection

This is why I despise the reflection

For it always seems to lead to the food

The things I allow within my being and mood

This is why I want to get it out on the canvas

To be forever delivered from it all

While the winning trophy hangs on my wall

As evidence that I will never ever know such torment again

I wish I were an artist…

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