The Artist’s Shadow
I’m afraid I’ve broken
from reality
and I wouldn’t put this
in poetry
normally,
but every light
has its shadow.
There is joy
in the artist’s palette,
but how much of it
is free?
How much
of what is born
is ever born
easily?
I’m afraid
it’s all a fantasy
and there’s nothing really
holding me —
just a slipstream
reality
my mind creates
to soothe me,
to shield me
from the truth.
But what is the truth,
really?
What exists externally,
outside of our creation?
And yes, I know
that maybe
I’m coloring my heart
in tangled shades
trying to make you
into the colors I crave.
But who are you
outside my stage?
Are you an illusion
that I create
because I ache
for something real?
Oh, the twisted things
a heart will do
to heal.
Is my whole life
just a way to fill
what is empty
because
there’s too much pain
in echoing
eternally
into nothing?
Maybe reality
will forever be
lost on me.
Maybe
it will always be
a lesson
in suffering —
in learning
to make pretty things
from what is bleeding.
Maybe.
Maybe
all I really do
is create,
create,
create
from nothing —
and this has always been
a blessing
and a curse.
© 2020 Jacqueline Ann
