Poem: A Festering Mess

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A Festering Mess

The colors are discordant.
The lines clash.
Nothing gets through
and the backlog is poison,
a festering mess, slow to drain,
hard to explain, a picture
with too much going on,
all of it moving, shape changing
and the child in you sees only monsters
far larger than yourself.

Time heals, but don’t kid yourself,
there are scars, new ones every day,
and even survival has its price.

About this poem

I once had a therapist who was also a brain scientist. A helpful combination, that.

She explained that people like me, who at times get overwhelmed by emotion are fighting a brain thing, that there are two sections of the brain, one for feelings and one that helps us act, and for some of us, the pipe between them is thin. It does not allow for enough movement between the two. So when there is too much, or too many emotions, we tend to bind up as the brain can only move so much from the emotion to the action part of our brain.

It sucks.

The picture is a detail of a painting, Poisonous City, I did a couple of months ago. Currently, it is hanging in the Equinox Village Gallery.

Tom

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