I wish I could chart my feelings
like and equation, but I was
never any good at math.
I’m a star pupil in self doubt.
My inner little demon stomps
all over my heart in her red boots.
My spirt has been left
to air out in the sun.
I find comfort between a rock
and stone, developing a self
portrait of a soul still unknown
who survives on parlor tricks,
and a floating photo frame.
Patterns of wants and desires
on pale face illuminated in the
ghost light of lost years.
I’m trying so hard to negate a negative space,
posing in black and white. Finding color
in the multiplicity of things. I transcribe
the image maker script into what I meant to say.