Waiting

Waiting… I spend a lot of my life in transition: sun up to sun down. Shadow puppet days - the same play told in seven ways – in seven different color schemes of unlucky. I scuffle monochromatic. It's good in a way. Time slows to a crawl and all of it lays out in quilted possibility. Colored sand that drifts through my hands, every millisecond something beautiful happens. Art. People’s actions painted in sharp twisting lines, or slow lazy circles or combinations of the two.  Even the big industrial inkblots: that crowd the white space set the contours for something beautiful. Blanks in my brain where memories could streak like bullets. They would take little pieces of me with them. Punch tiny holes to the outside, so I could have a naturally lit inside. Pull some of the negative space out of me. Fill the dark with neon colors, almost too colorful, loud even, screaming about misremembered slights and sordid love affairs and friendships that were so amazing I almost cried. In the time between my own faltering paint strokes my glance cuts over the other Van Goghs and Monets, seeing them working reverently. Paint lovers. I wanna be more like them. Still, I remember the words I heard from an old artist when I was crying overmy muddily mixed pastels, Meaning is found in contrast. Now I find myself in the space between hues and the negative -- the noir between judgment and acceptance. Sweet plum highlights lining the bridge between regality and irrelevance. Intense sunset brews, cooling on the horizon of warm afternoons. 100 shades dull the scene. Creeping over skylines finding my mind letting rainy days do their job. Jobs, actually. They force us to wait and they make everything more beautiful. It's easy to see the color of my skin in placid storm. I glow neon colors: aquamarine to lime green, zesty and awkward. I wonder sometimes how would I look pressed up against a tan, beige? Emblazoned with zigzags of me streaks that mean something. Or, a spot in the corner of a wave of red: small and riding in the crest. It’s frustrating that I have to exist, momentarily, in the gray. I wanna make art. That's the bare bones of it. In the spaces of my life, I want to create art -- take part in something. Leave my marks on something.