Conscious Poem by Elizabeth Kudebeh

Between those painted lines you draw
Sits a man who will tell you what really happened.
He replies in gruff tones unfit for virgin ears
And ears brave enough to listen will then have wilted minds.
That man who sits between the lines
Has fingertips full of white paint.
And surrounding him are black spots.
Spots that make no sense.
He says that what really happened was a shame,
He swears it was not written in the stars
Or a fortune cookie.
It happened wrong.
And for everyone that would swear the same thing,
He is the one that will know the difference between an excuse
And a truth.