Painting outside the lines

I’m usually even-keeled.
Not today.
Today, I felt oddly battered by rule,
by the straight lines that don’t apply to everyone.
This is a country whose ethics are shaded in with color pencils that are light like the white of
our White House.
The red of our Red House
flames true with the indignity
of our bloody streets and dirty cities.
And I’ve tried to hold on and build.
Draw blue lines in my sky
Underline them with my daily sighs.
The embers of my pride
burn out strong and vibrantly yellow,
as I toss them in the air, against the Deepvali lights
that I add to my nights.
The scarlet I became for so many
because of my love
is not the last color.
My palette has more but
my wallet can not buy them,
because my green, blue, red, purple and grey notes
have straight edges,
but my heart does not.
And I’m tired,
of losing all my colours,
to a black stripe that does not embrace hard work and spirit.
In theory only,
in this country,
black is the presence of all color,
and today my anger
blazed over,
spilling over,
And I made up my mind,
I will paint outside these lines.

– janberry – 27Apr2019 © 6.50pm

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