i painted my love with pink highlighter
on the canvas of my own skin,
tears streaming all the while to make lurid
confettied rivulets on my collarbone,
navel, thighs. covered in naked metaphor,
a feral thing without claws,
i crouched on the floor of your
third-storied room beside the window;
i couldn’t see out.
Joanna Suzanne Lee 
A very self-isolated and contained piece. The questioning of existence underneath the metaphoric and symbolic caging in. One’s self. One’s society, one’s religion.
Wipe your hands over, or open it. And see, the realities slow, and critical moments are analyzed. Beautiful poem, truly. May have to read and comment on more of your words.
thanks for your kind words. this was definitely for me an analysis of a ‘critical moment.’ i like the way you put things 🙂
–jsl
I admire your compaction; you pack so much energy in a small box. What flared to me: The animal can’t be painted on without caging us inside a worse mask. I think of Rilke’s panther and wonder if the animal inside us can ever be let free.