Found

As a child I, like many, asked “Why?” It was a question I asked a lot. To my mother, it was responded with platonic promises of understanding when I was older, or shunting the question aside like an annoying fly. I asked “God” Why. I was told he had a plan, I was unworthy of knowing, or ever questioning Why. Now I feel the truth of this question is so very plain, it’s rude. Because. That is Why. Simply, Because. Knowing Why, doesn’t help much however. Why, means “Too far gone.” Why, is overlooking the aftermath of the preventable disaster. Why is what we weep when too little too late is done. I don’t ask Why anymore. I ask what now?

How much more of an armature could I be? This is part one in a series of paintings I want to create, before I put them all together to form a self portrait. I’ve recently been learning about art on my own, and I want to try and paint something meaningful to me, without the driving force of the painting being “Pretty” I want to make something, real.

droplets falling from my hair, searing the small of my back

I asked how thirsty people found water left in themselves to weep.

For weight of all the blood.

Escaping a barren soul

Because I do.