Cerulean, Magenta, and Payne’s Grey

I used to feel so left out. Left out of my mothers understanding and vulnerability, from my biological fathers presence altogether, I’ve felt shut out from so called friends availability. I used to feel like a burden, an extra load that no one wanted to acknowledge or sort through. Recently I sat with myself and sorted through my own baggage. I wanted to be taken care of by others while taking care of them, but I was left with the responsibility of offering support and care to others and nothing in return.

That lack of understanding was her own guard and protection from a threat. Getting too close to me meant potentially her own drowning , but for me it was bridging our islands together. It meant working together to relate and problem solve. It meant learning from her past so I could get closer to my own future. It meant hard work and she didn’t want to do it.

My father’s presence meant choosing to love, build, and protect multiple people while not having a roof of your own. He was afraid of failing in my eyes, but he had already failed in his own eyes. Harnessing a connection with me meant opportunity to finish building what was started for me. But his own dreams was more enticing. He didn’t want to do it.

My friends, lovers, and past crushes offered a sense of comfort, vulnerability, and connection that I’ve never felt before. It was so rich and surreal. The words on pages and text messages popped out when I read them. My emotions felt very 3D, like I could look joy and sadness in the face and name its colors. But when the sun rested and the colors slept, everyone disappeared. Not even the stars illuminated a path for me to see during the night wakings. They never returned my texts. The line went dark, even when the sun came back out.

Eventually the sun rises again. And sets again. The sun nor the stars stop shining. The ocean shore washes up material for a bridge, a raft, and a paddle and I can choose to build in any direction. I pick the cerulean blue from the sky as my background. The magenta from the tulips will be my cocoon when Payne’s grey clouds drapes over the light source. I paint the patterns of my own shadows cast on the ground as a path back to my paint grounds, my home. Holding hope that the patterns line up just right for wandering visitors to see that they’re not lost nor alone. But that there’s more than enough material for them to build or finish their own way back to themselves.