It’s not for you, or about you; it’s all for me.
It’s how I self-parent & process we.
Not “we” separate people; but the royal.
No, Queen…my hats are not made of tinfoil.
Each person I love gives me new perspective.
All still here, my dysfunctional collective.
It is good that I’ve loved abusers to saints.
My emotional palette; infinite paints.
I’ve poured ink over page, model & canvas.
I’d say I painted my way out of Kansas.

