The Colors of Me

I don’t fit in. No one can see. I struggle to show you all that makes me, me. Because of that, I feel insignificant once more.

When I was a little girl, I dreamt of swallowing paint so what I felt inside would match what was in my minds eye. I wanted to color my heart lilac and the birdcage of my ribs saffron and the length of my spine all the blues of the sea. Sadly, I am not Salvador Dali. I am just me.

That no longer feels enough.

If I was da Vinci I could cleave my heart to show you where you fit inside. Maybe you would prefer I be like van Gogh so I can offer you my own ear like a bouquet to match the darkness you feel. Would that be a gift of light in your obsidian sky? Then when you find delight, your laughter would sound like a crystal chandelier. I would paint that beautiful sound.

I am feeling a blue period so maybe I could be Picasso. I would square away my tongue into cubes to silence myself, drape my lungs on a rusty clothes line and toss a billowing white sheet over my heart. Then slip my nose two inches to the right and flatten all three of my dimensions so I can finally meet your expectations. Form into what you need. To be seen and not heard.

Sorry to disappoint, instead I am just me. I only carry the river of capillaries in my chest that now leaks and the burn of regret in my stomach. I sit down to write and make allusions to artists greater than myself, more enduring. They are each preserved in a mausoleum of history whereas I am just flesh and bone, blood and sweat, and too many tears. Instead of paint swirling inside of me, there is only a surge of sadness coating my veins.

I will never be Dali. I cannot cut myself open and spill an immortal masterpiece into your soul.
Even giving all of me, is never enough.

Instead, I bleed.

The colors of me.


Artwork was done by me.


4 thoughts on “The Colors of Me

  1. The artwork is superlative and the words are better.
    You have a huge talent for this style of writing, having reduced me to tears in the past.
    This is just magnificent, brilliantly conceived, beautifully created, heart-breakingly communicated.
    Nothing else, except many, many, hugs.


  2. Well one of my favourite works of yours that hangs peacefully on my wall. I like this piece Anja as it says what i believe too, we can only be who we are. As a friend of mine would say: ‘ You can take it or d..’


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