49.2.30

God paints
with light.
We see the colors
and the brush strokes.
We see the influences
and the statements.
But we rarely
see Them.

(I see God in
gender and sex
open me up
and deposit both
inside)

I wasn’t made
to paint
but be painted.
I wasn’t made
to draw
but be drawn.
It is not within me
to design
I am a divine design.

(I drink God,
kiss Them,
brush Them,
hold Them.)

I am not of
or from Them.
I am where They go
to paint.

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About Michael Robinson

An eclectic person living in a world rife with binaries, opposition, anger and pain and trying to find the spectra, love, happiness and catharsis within.
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Poetry, XX30. Bookmark the permalink.

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