Show, Don't Tell.

Show:

Suddenly he found himself smiling more, and occasionally he even laughed. His sarcasm withered away and instead, what took root was an incredible earnestness to explain his thoughts and feelings to other people and even listen- no matter how stupid he thought them previously. Eventually he figured that this odd happiness couldn't be just a coincidence: it was sustained by the way she dotted her i's with little hearts whenever she wrote his name.

Tell:

He was in love.


***

While I am nowhere good enough a writer to be openly handing out advice... I thought this was definitely worth sharing. Make Good Art.

I originally published this piece as 'Not a Poem VI' on my Hello Poetry page: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1044362/not-a-poem-vi/

Poet.

And what you'll find is, your highness
Can paint a picture that is vivid enough to cure blindness
                                                       ­        - J. Cole, January 28th


And because they have never before seen a naked soul,
they ask me
if I am being deliberately provocative
with my pen.

And then I paint.

So that they too can undress
that mental amnion that has cocooned them
since birth; which itself became still-born
as it was followed by an undying funeral 
of parental expectations.

And then I paint.

So that they too can reclaim
that aborted clay and mould their burial
into gestation, and shatter
their amnion coffins
from the asphyxiating breath of non-existence
to the respiratory lust of Being.

And then I paint.

So that I too can remember 
that I am they. A victim
ejaculated into the darkness of lost light,
dreams deferred at birth;
who still focuses his pen on this canvas
to cure his own blindness, to see
and paint his naked soul before me,

which we then call Life.