SSS: WINDOW TO MY PAST

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click above to end me, i mean, this series.

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the real sun scorches my right hand,
but it is away from the real action,
enough to protect the gooey important center,
the center where my imagination lives.

in my imagination i see where my life should be,
where it should have been taken,
only here can i breathe a sigh of relief
and dwell in my own colorful fantasies.

my rose-scarred fingers, veiny blues forming a cup,
lifting the window with strengthless nails, fingertips,
just enough to let in a breath of fresh air,
this time not from my lungs but yours.

let in just enough of the world
so i can play with this world,
shape it to my desires and vents,
make it into a place that's signature me

with my colored pencils
newly sharpened with an electronic sharpener,
tossing the brown shaved bits from ten years ago,
10 years ago was when depression halted my art.

in this circle protected from the fucked outside world,
i can draw the real orange sun however i like,
only i will test the limits of freedom,
i make the sun's curved rays simple lines if i want,
i own the sun now,
it was never yellow to begin with.

i think back, this is a window to my past,
when happiness was still a possibility,
when i began to enter special realms,
wondrous places of my imaginings, these worlds only i knew,
i was god, king, creator, ruler,
i stood over the people i created, lovingly, but with a six-year-old's easy command,
i drew my men and women and children how i wanted,
with those pointy noses that have become my signature,
i made them say what i wanted in my stories, i drew everything:
the houses, trees, shrubs, street lights and signs,
power cords as straight and black as the man's eyebrows,
My First Book, the first of many million more books penned and illustrated by me,
all words, all pictures just by me, always, let no one else sully my image,
it was the dictatorial start of something harrowing
but exhilarating at the same time, a little kid
rejecting this world in favor of his own.

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