Art

I want to write my world
into a song, into a poem
I want to transform my pain
into an art, into something
for you to see, to feel, to live
with me
that might make me feel less
alone
But how do you turn this
whatever it is
into words?
How do you make this into
a song to sing
a poem to discover
a book to read?
Even if I could
I'm not sure I want to
I would rather spare you
from this confusion and suffering
I can't paint my soul on a canvas anyway
At least not beyond my dreams
because dreams are where our wildest imaginations
come to life, illuminating what happens in our heads
so what about those awful dreams, perhaps nightmares?
Is that what he really thinks about me?
Is that his poem on life?
Is that what he wants to sing?
Or is it involuntary?
A smear of red across his perfect painting.