• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 01
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A pair of gloves
for every role
life has given.

The overwhelming
bright colors
seem so complex.

The brighter colored
ones for the
most happy or dangerous.

The darker colored
ones for the
heavier tasks, unwanted.

The bright yellow
for the parenting plus, the
ignored chores of the house.

The blue ones shine
reminders of,
the garden and mass.

The pink ones portray
the heavy but,
sometimes joyous womanhood.

The oranges bellow
a sharp contrast of
bipolar and caution.



The green resembling
neutral feelings of admiration
for my children.

The black must
represent the anger, and
the demise of death.

The red to beacon
the artist to paint
the empty canvas.

The grey to call
the shadows that ache
to be written.

The multicolored to represent,
the daughter always
trying to impress.

The blacks and blues to
suggest, recovery from all
the drugs and incest.

The purple, green, and bright blue,
to help guide my unique
and independent children.

Ahh… But alas!
look at the temptation
of all the evil beaconing.

The relief of the
one black mass.

The outstretched arm,
of all that is not exhausting.

The lie of drugs,
and instant but never lasting, happiness.