man of many parts

Man of many parts

I am a man of many parts. Equal to any man but in many sections. there is a part of me which is always singing and a part of me which is always dreaming and a part that is always crying. There is a section of anger that washes the images of people with green and yellow contempt, and frustration. And there is a section of understanding, not to be confused with forgiveness, that washes over the mistakes of others like rain hitting a fire. These parts grow and shrink, yell and go silent. And there is a space that is just behind my eyes and mouth ware thy consort and mingle. All the flavors and textures becoming indistinct. I think it is that space that makes up most men's mineds. Or is it that, like all other men that I do not see past this mask to all the wonders behind.