Mr. Painter paints a life, a baby innocent and free of the world’s troubles, shameless adult, the body shame the chubbiness of thighs and arms. Can you please airbrush this baby, he is not cute, they called out behind them. Oh, in the presence of outsiders they smile and make funny faces, and say oh what a cutie cute baby, how hypocritical? Let their childhood produce the effect of fine lines and a wide sweep. Forcing kisses on their cheeks soak in saliva and a mixture and remnants of whatever they last ate. Life shows itself to us but funny how we cannot make sense of any of it.
Mr. painter paints a life, a teenager whose life’s line is not straight. deep voice, big bones, broad chest clearer features. Ooh yeah, breast round like calabash, don’t be in awe the gods approved. please highlight the shapes, waist with a curve that will get you dizzy quickly like new and pure palm wine. Rebellion at its best; what makes you think you’ve grown? Just add texture and the don’ts become dos, dos become don’ts. it’s all hormones uncontrollable a phase and this too shall pass. The taboos, the rush, you think you are all that, right? Yes, you are all that but you are even more just allow the process of time, as everything has a place in time, ask history.
Mr. Painter paints a life, as an adult faces a life of hardships and torment, haunted by the past, complicated relationships. Yes! Heard it’s a status now in the virtual world. Does it even exist? A utopia of what life really used to be.hmmm more time for the less important and less time for more important. Just how karma has shown us our parents’ love and sacrifice. Society had planned a path that which if not taken, your journey is truly not successful. Unnecessary pressures our shoulders to bear. How life can be nice and mean at the same time and showed up when we least expect. They call it the Wakanda generation nothing seems real but we hold it in high esteem because it creates a false spirit of unison.
Mr. Painter paints a life, as an old fella! Life has snatched the youths away, the strength, oh how frail and weak. Oil paint all the what-ifs, doubts, and regrets. You hear them say; I could have love harder, run faster, eat slower, exercise more, buy that dress, buy that car, build that house, married the woman or man of my dreams, spent more time with the children, the family. We have all the time or where did it go? An illusion of what seems to be time. How materialistic and vain the human mind can be. Paint how truly short this life could be, what’s borrowed can be taken when we least expect. Please paint my life, give them colors, make it vibrant as a rainbow. Don’t let them know how miserable it was, ain’t we all putting up a front? Give it the life I did not have. Make it a masterpiece not fit for the museum and the gallery, its too priceless. Paint me