Poem: “Half Half Whole”

by Tavius Marshall

Paint cans being poured out, filled with paint of different shades of brown and black.

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Please read aloud to yourself…

I have found a conundrum in the spectrum of light we cast on color. At least half of a conundrum, at least a fourth of a misjudgment, an eighth of tainted sentiment, a 16th of regret and just a drop of pigment confusion, in the illusion of my skins twisted conclusion. Let me rephrase. Does high yellow get its own crayon? Can you not lay on your bed of preformed ideas when you look at me? When you hear me? Do you see the shades aren’t what they’re painted up to be. The way I walk, talk and move, greying out the subtext of your pretext? Does it vex you so, to figure out this disconnect. When I’m waiting in line, in the piece of mind of my mind minding my own business that causes you to confess your awkwardness into “what are you?” what am I? The same thing you can’t seem to stop. Just a drop, just a few more drops in the bucket.”

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