chiaroscuro

One day I will be braver I will gather the courage within me like sunshine submerged in the heart of small growing green things and let it flow out from me   It will guide my footsteps to a steadier, brighter future than my current platitudes    One day I will be braver and I will sing the song I've been humming all these years maybe with a dance for accompaniment's sake   Letting me breathe for the first time in years a peachy tint to my lungs and my tongue and my lips   One day I will be braver and I will open a funny little door and poke my head out, bird like, chick like so I can see the sun and smile at its grace.  

 there is a white background behind me.  the absence of darkness compels me forward, up stage left.  I am surrounded by the scribbling of a lunatic a twitter post written at midnight.   The pencils quickly sketch me from the waist up I have no feet or ankles or knees no flared hips that the old women worship no legs to propel me forward, up stage right.   My diamond chin, the slant of my nutty eyes Nutty but like a paste, an almond sweet flavored flatly break the crust, like you do under the river bridges and smile, like you do when the money's tight.  The hair billows, pensive and thoughtful and empty a space to be filled in, upward strokes, downward strokes a swimmer going upstream, against the grain it falls over my skull and lays across my line of sight.   I see nothing, for I am a silhouette against a cross-hatched background the noise of the paper and the lead makes me scream I'm heard amongst the silence that is this white space and perhaps for a moment I can break free

 there's something to be said about the despair in your smile like rainwater dripping off of firewood the piano is wailing as the sirens blare in the distance the bartender is barking at you as you lurch from side to side   the city smiles and your hand in mine is calloused and warm I hold onto it for if I let go I will fall into myself  into myself and my misery  I'm not sad, a pillar in a temple is not sad it's more of a resignation, an acceptance a star-crossed letter delivered to you by hand slowly i pick up the pieces and I learn to walk in the footprints in the mud by the green pond where the ducks swim and the herons sleep.