My Puke Puddle.

No, do not stumble upon my puke puddle.
Just walk around it,
or jump over it.
Do not cringe
or frown
or squint ever so slightly
using all the control to resist making that judgement;
you do not get a say.
This indigestion,
the concoction you see, is a multitude of feelings;
my multitudinous feelings.
The red you see from the beet root soup
is anger from shallow politics,
the lust of ambition,
unfathomable passion,
unrequited love,
a death drive.
The green from the spinach
is envy
of another’s success
of another’s family
of another’s life.
The yellow from the turmeric
is the positivity
that I cannot process internally,
the joy I no longer feel,
the optimism that no longer exists.
The white grains of rice
peeping through,
they pine for purity,
for a cleansing –
a longing for peace.
And then there is the black!
The black of the
scattered specks of, what, rotten cumin seeds?
A glimpse of the evil I house within.
An aggressive pacification to contain within me
a dark storm or rebellion,
or is it just a peak
into the absence, into a non existence,
into the abysmal nothingness.
Also, the chunks here and there.
Small chunks of compliments
complemented by a slightly larger portion
of bad faith shared about me in confidence.

So, do not stumble upon my puke puddle
if you cannot walk around it
or jump over it.
This indigestion,
this unholy sight
this reeking melange
is my insufferable reality.

Picture caption: Tangled, entangled.

Entwined, intertwined.

Feeling, unfeeling.