And he said,

“Paint the truth or don’t paint at all.”

So I didn’t paint for 10 years.

Fuck man!
I couldn’t even look in the mirror.

Bottle after bottle.
Pill after pill.
Line after line.
Endless cigarettes.

It made me cry
to see who wasn’t
on the other side.

That’s not my face,
but I recognize my eyes.

I slept for 30 days.
Just scared and alone.
Letting it all fall apart around me.
Waiting for the next thing to come.
Hopelessly adrift.
Praying Fate takes it easy on me this time.

She did.

It still took me a long time to be myself again.

My missing inner child
wasn’t as easy to find
as walking up
to the Walmart service desk.

It feels good to tell the truth again,
even if it’s cringy af.