Self-Portrait in Pastels

 

I want to be myself,
that person you dream I can be,
me,
not your neophyte, your disciple.

I remember the knotwork
of ten thousand stitches on a loom
in a crowded, musty room in Tunisia,
where you never went.

 

I wished my cranial nerves
would form the perfect tapestry
not this tangled mess of rich pastels,
Aurora Borealis of beautiful tragedy.

Thoughts would glide down canals
of veins to escape my mouth

like a magician’s infinite ribbons
And you'd be proud of me then.

Author's Note

written to explore the theme of inner-self. A poem about how those with SpLDs are so easily used.

Reviews

[Donald Meikle]

and I am glad to have those guys agree with me!

[W.k.kortas]

As the father of an autistic child, the phrase "Aurora Borealis of beautiful tragedy" rings so true, and this is beautiful in its own right.

[Donald Meikle]

I'm actually proud to have known you as you are. Why would you want to change? Or is this just a mind trip to tease us?
Never have I been to Tunisia
Tragic?

[Ed Hart]

standing for others, is standing for yourself...it's an ongoing and colossal struggle to be self-emergent...if there's anyone to be honored for that, it's you

[Ken Simm.]

The many us. The person we think we are, the person others see and the person we really are. (Bit of tautology there I know) Taking what is right from our experience. This what I take from this tightly constructed write. A plea without self pity. Just the memories that make us whole.