Portrait

i am painting a portrait

of someone who could be me

or who could be you

it will be yellow

a soft yellow, that brings the remnants of an embrace

it burns with quiet love you cannot forget

the yellow is my hope, my future, the memory of light after the sun has set, the admiration i feel when my eyes meet yours

it will be gray

a bare gray heavy with burdens

it radiates with a feeling that you can’t quite place

the gray is my silence, the silence between the words i say to you, between the words you say to me

it will be white

a blinding white, stark in its comfort

it speaks of times you won’t remember

the white is my simplicity, the way i am so many parts and yet one whole, the way you understand me and yet don’t understand at all

it will be many more colors and none at all

after all, meaning is lost

when the world is the audience

it dissolves away in the chatter of the masses

because my painting is not meant to be understood by just anyone

the canvas is weak and bows with the weight of the pigment

because my portrait has been scribbled over and redone

like someone is aiming for perfection they don’t know how to reach

does the art critic know what it means

to collapse under the weight of expectation

despite the colors, the painting is simple

the emptiness between the stars

the silence between the words

that place always forgotten

because it cannot outshine the source of light

my painting is for the world

those people that will never know my name

and when it is displayed, the world will be silent

because you should never talk over the sound of a heart beating

my heart beating, disclosing secrets my voice was not privy to

my portrait will be titled with words i cannot speak aloud

but you should never know its name

it is the one thing i will never give to you

because my painting is for the world

those people that will never know my name

it is not for you

and yet,

you are the only one who might know what it means

perhaps you could explain it to me