my zero

living with pain

the story of today.

headline in-fact

as we pretend to be whole

and pretend to be intact.

he looks on

and they look on him

his life appears gold

his life is grim.

a painter?

he was unaware.

portraits so pure

he tries to paint in black

but color always finds his stare.

the story he sells

they come far and wide

they buy it.

He’s trying,

no

he’s reconciling.

onward he goes

the thumbs up continue to flow

the likes, they never go

is it real? he never knows.

perfection is what they expect

but no one challenges his quo

the fainted hearted

they will never know.

of the hundreds of thousands,

only one could equate

to see him as he is

to approach the boy,

with a slate that is blank.

she’s a painter too

except she owns her pallet

her paint, once black too

faded into the sky,

and like the sky,

turned into blue.

with just one question,

really, how are you?

 

 

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