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The White Gesture
I sit here with this grousing body,
Knees bent and my face to the floor,
I’m sitting in a white room with a white body
And before me I see nothing more.
I am sitting down with my arms on my knees,
Dismembering all my times of yore,
My face is no longer connected to my head,
It is grasp tight in my palm and nothing more.
I never could understand why I am presence here,
I have no color, hair, or skin,
Nothing more than a white gesture, with my
Face in the palm of my hand.
If I could posses a paintbrush, I wonder what
Kind of face I would smear, unto my plain white
Face in the palm of my hand, surely nothing
To resemble my past years.
If only I could contain a few colors, to paint my eyes
Of green, see I knew before this presence time my
Eyes were blue, and never before much seen.
If only I could paint a new face so people could
Distinguish me, maybe then my heart wouldn’t be
So black, I could tear out my heart and paint it red,
Then maybe it would be a actual heart typical
People don’t lack.
Just now I see before me, a normal person coming in
The white room, dressed in magnificent colors, each pigment resembling adequate loom.
Oh how I crave his bright character, his handsome looks
And perfect form, how I wish to be like that commonplace
Person, just to get me out of my own private storm.
But mind and soul is trapped in this white body, this
Body of nothing more,
My face still is gripped in my palm, the fear of
Placing back makes me quite sore.
They say each person has his own unique gift, from God
The only king, I knew I couldn’t find my gift’s colors,
Under me, this white thing.
Suddenly the man before me, looked deep into my soul,
He walked up to me and handed me a paintbrush,
And then said: “Paint your very own soul…”
He told me to paint and figure out my own gift,
Which I said everyone contains, but I knew not what to paint, each thought and idea resembled pain.
Suddenly the man walked off, leaving me with a brush
And a few colors too, I felt my face in the palm of my
Hand, thinking hard of what to do.
Suddenly the pain hit me, worst than before, I threw the
Brush down and also my own face to the floor.
As I buried my head in my knees, crying but tears seeping
Out from my face that I threw, suddenly I heard someone
else saunter in the room, and then he told me something
I already knew.
“Be not your own kind, because your own kind you are
not….you are different from everyone else in the world,
and you are something that you think your not…”
Those last words distorted my thoughts about the first,
He told me something then I didn’t knew, and what
He told me really changed a lot of things, because
What he said was true. I may be a white blob, different
From everyone else in this earth.
But because I think I’m something I’m not, I was never nothing that matters even since my own birth.
Suddenly a idea sparked my mind, as the second person
Walked out, I stood up to my feet just then, and got
My face and positioned it back.
All my tears that I cried, all the screams and piercing
Shouts, I know now what I didn’t know then,
My life’s past was nothing but wild black.
I am my very own person, the past is gone with the
Hasty wind, those colors I need not, because I am,
Who I am.
Suddenly my body changed into colors, my face
Developed into real skin, the white room dissolved
Around me, into dark colors that I was actually in.
Suddenly I jumped up without thinking, found myself
That I was actually lying down, it seemed like I was
Dreaming, and suddenly I look around.
I found myself in the room I was in that caused my
Black past, the room I was enclosed in had bars and brick
Walls, as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes,
I stood up, and never felt so tall and knew it would last.
After that dream I knew, who I was was gone,
Because who I thought I was was something I was not,
Now I grip the cold, icy bars, and desire to go home.
But I knew my sentence was not over, but someday I will
Get out, and once I do I will become who I am,
And never before I would give God a great big shout.