A tiny, tidy room. I am speaking in memories, illusions and pleasantries. The air conditioner is not running and the sun shines through a white window over white wicker furniture and artificial floral arrangements and a tile floor that is not lovely at all, not chic at all, but is always clean.
I am leaving,
scooting around the edge,
feeling my way in the dark,
suddenly unable to breath.
I feel proud of myself for avoiding the obvious. Proud for not bringing it to anyone’s attention. Proud for not mentioning that I was suffocating. Proud that I didn’t let my feelings show. Proud that I was what someone else wanted me to be and not who I am. Proud that I had kept
I open the door to get into the car, sniff the air, look down. I must have stepped in elephant poop.
I don’t feel proud at all.
This painting is acrylic on canvas. 52″×52″ 2008