A poem a day for 2013 - day 67 - poem 2 - What say you

I have to live in a place
Where I can paint on the walls
I have to paint on the walls
I have to paint words
In bold black letters
In cursive
Sentences with commas
I love commas
I don't know why
Maybe because I take time
For tea and pause
But I never stop
I don't like periods or question marks
But commas all day, son!

I have to live in a place where
I can paint pictures on the walls
Pictures of my son
My sun
Orange pictures
Of old ladies in everybody's business
Blue and purple skies

If I live with you
May I paint letters on the walls
I have to color the side of the refridgerator
With markers and dancing women
What is your favorite color

If you love me enough
To hold me when I need
And let go when I need
Then I will paint a picture of us
Holding hands in the bathroom
Opposite the mirror
So our love and hand holding
Will keep reflecting and bouncing
Off the walls
Does that sound good to you?

I have to live in a place
Where I can change the furniture around
Every week if I need to
And I might need to every week
How would you feel if I painted the ceiling blue
A light blue like the best day of summer
With just enough clouds to remind us
That we are people
Real people who get rained on too

I have to live in a place
Where I can write poems on the closet doors
If I cannot write poems on the closet doors
Then what will I do

I am a poet
And sometimes poets speak
In all these weird metaphors
But this is not a poem
Really this is what I have to do
Or I will just disappear
From myself