My Black Period, 47 x 52", Oils, $3500
My black period, the part of my life that fell
Between my twentieth and thirtieth years….
A time when I hated with such intensity,
That I hated what I was
I hated the fact that people controlled my environment
I hated when things were out of place
Or out of my control
And didn’t flow as I needed it to
A time when I felt congested and all pent up,
And torn asunder.
It was my blackest time to date
A learning time for me, a growing time,
A sad and bewildering time
A time when confusion reigned supreme
And I had no one who could be there
To attend to my every need.
I had never exited from my childhood because I had not the tools to move
And so I sat
An observer of the black period I was in
And tried to figure
Where I would go next
And what my ideals would be.
My sweat, like bullets
Proclaimed the war I was waging
And how the losers all around me (and myself)
Flared under the constant fire
Of my demanding anger and bitterness and selfishness
For I insisted on having life my own way
And not knowing how to change it
I continued to be rotten.
I was mean to my only daughter
And all the while I was writing this
I was still caged and cornered like a hungry wolf
Waiting for his prey to pounce upon
Perhaps I can change this miserable self
Into a more understanding person
With all these words
My Black Period continues
As if eternity was the punishment I must endure
By Harry Martin Polis