Paint me.

I am not  anything else and

I am not existing as a drawing for you to a paint,

that belongs on a page or in a picture

or in front of a camera.


Captured like I was before.


It’s been so long since a December was…

the way I first saw it. The way I first made it be in my mind.

It always falls on us but never as I remember it;

in a thick blanket of itself.


It was the second birthday, 31  days long.

I didn’t know who I was…

Where did you go?


long since the past. Your own

eyes stare back at you and you

are not forgiven.



I try to say hello,

but the paint has yet to set.


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