There is an entire world out there – a world comprised of "yes, no, maybe" and they each belong to their own colors. No is black of course, a void filled with negativity and resonance of the strongest emotions. Yesses belong up in the sky, white clouds tinged with the light from the sun. And maybes are our rainiest days, collecting in puddles that just end up kicked out of the way, tossed out the window and forgotten. The only remnants of a maybe is the ashes left in the tray when you're stubbed out.
I'm a no living in a yes world. I'm not quite a maybe, but I'm always a possibility. I'm immune to all of these words that people spit up violently and emotionally; diathesis, Abraxas, tie off, light up, scratch-n-sniff, commitment, aphasia. I'm not fluent in the language of the lovers, the screeches, squeals, screams, sensations; I speak with a bat of a lash, the cock of an eye, the ticking of a clock going around-round-round in circles. In this rainbow I'm an anomaly, cut glass shards that believe in Creationism, the ones that slide into the toughest of calloused feet, burying themselves and making home where you hang your hat. Or where you forget your sweaters.
At the end of the yellow brick road, I sit with the rest of the possibilities and we propose a toast to staying the same and changing the world. We stub out our cigarettes and blow the ash up-up-up into those teeth-white grinning clouds. We get high on hope and desperation and inject our language straight into the veins of the innocent.
So swallow it and get high, drink it in, hold it up, scream it out, paint it everywhere, because anywhere is a canvas, and we're all reincarnated from Monet. We all have the capability to be a yes. You just gotta keep your eyes on the sky, and bear the world those great white "fuck you's".