Most of us
Walk around
In this world
Thinking
Truly believing
That what people
Say, or think
About us
Defines and
Makes us
Who we
Are
And not
The other way
Around.
We are not some
Tabula Rasa
To be molded
And shaped
As those
Who think
They know
Better who
We should be
Than the Divine
That lives
Inside us.
Define the Divine
However you wish
Genetics
God
Love
Humanity
Or nothing
But what we
Can hope to be
Against all odds.
But when people
React to me
Sometimes with
Shocking ferocity
Or a distain
That is far
Disproportionate
To my crime,
Then I know
It is not
Me…
I am just
The canvas…
Today's crime
Was to call
Someone
Love.
I have some
Gift or curse
To find the landmines
Around people's
Hearts.
I could be
Some Narcissist
Or borderline
I was told…
I seek the public limelight
And my gifts
Mere party favors.
For as I was
Educated
True love
Is done in secret
Love is earned
Not given
Freely.
I would say
That might be true
Of trust,
And what is love
Without trust?
I am a canvas
Projected upon…
Most days
The world sees love.
Some days
The world
Sees me as evil
(um yes I have
actually been called
that)
Other days
The judgments
More harsh
Bitter and entangled.
But the projections
Tell me a great deal
About what is
Going on
With the projector,
More so
Than the canvas.
When I blow up
Myself
Then I know
I am the projector
And say
“Ah HA!!!”
Some days
Sooner than
Others…
So I can
Learn something
About myself,
Some days
Quicker than
Others…
Some days
Become months
& years,
But isn't
That true
Of us all?
In the end
I am not
Your fears,
Nor am I
Your projections,
But someday
I do hope
To be seen
By you
For who
I am,
But that day
Is not
Today,
Because today
We agree
That we don't
See love
The same way.
True love
Would never
Want that
In the first place.
But there is
A lovely painting
On that canvas
Which can only
Be appreciated
After
The projections
Of the past
Are turned
Off.
