Focus: This Picture (I)

If I wanted a body, you didn’t give me a choice
If I wanted a color, what is this grey you force?
From the baking of my feet
to the stars in my pit.
You chose of my youth
the braces tied to my truth.
Am I made as a lie?
Then why do you cover your heavens with a sky.
If you made me of your sweet
make then my honey to treat
the indescribable feeling,
the prolonged healing.

So if you made me with many colors
what is if my eyes?
what do you choose as a tongue
that will lace truth upon lies
what color is your skies?
how do I really tell with my ears
if I change what I hear.
Today I am Galliaci the clown
tomorrow I am Krusty from the ground,
next I am the Senate of poetry
while in truth I’m Groot from a tree.
Choose my heaven
and stop making these blank pages hell.

Ruddapoet