Painted

Pastel touches canvas,
giving light to shaded background.
I'm coloring myself unwanted.

Memory coughs down another lecture of perspective
and I'm ignoring it, blending grays away until
I explode; whispering bright patterns against the dull.

I live my pretend life in pretend beauty,
crying with angels,
dancing with spirits,
kissing pretty boys on their pretty mouths;
happily forever after into a sunset I painted lemonade.

My reds bleed to wistful pink mists,
my forest greens to neon envy.

If I painted reality it would be black and gray and
tears all over.

My mind is the turpentine to all my dreams