03: December 2014 #06 - Simply Blue
Authored by Rayna Brown #3
Inspired by Henri Matisse’s Blue Nude #9
by Rayna Brown
And all of a sudden I have tired of being blue. And not even Kind of Blue, like Miles composed or blue-black, or even feeling blue. I am sick of my flesh the flat and, empty, panels of stone, prints of aqua on aqua like coats of house paints dried completely and re-applied. My skin the product of smooth limestone, of the divine, the intermarriage of rock or metal, wax, ink, grease. Paint. Thick daubs of one color flattened smooth. I am 2-D as in Too Done as in I am overdone as in I am endlessly repeated as in I am no longer original. Clothes confine like shackles of cloth smothering the vibrant hue of me as I am thrown to the wayside, to the dogs. I recline, with Legs like hambones, thick enough to bite. My breasts firm and at-attention yes-please touch me. It’s been a while. I am a seductress with gaps in my flesh like white teeth or shafts of razor sharp cloud. I am pieces pieced together to make a whole and yet I could be nothing but what I am and I am blue. Two toes, half a hand, on arm plastered to my forehead in agony, or perhaps ecstasy. The seducer of men of a different hue or perhaps as blue as I, Cerulean, Cornflower, Midnight, Navy, Sapphire, Ultramarine… these I fold into myself, plaster into my skin print by print and all of a sudden I tire of nothing but the loneliness of a white page punctuated by the blue swell of my naked body.