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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required FAMILY PORTRAIT My teacher once told us to draw a family portrait, i was 8 and drawing was never my stronghold, but it was my teacher i had to do as i was told. this drawing was not going to be straight. well in my household there are three colors i know its black,red and white. my mother was more painted with bruises on her her face-BLACK Her nose bled over weekends for my father was an artist. sometimes my mother would be crossing her hands across her face like x marked the spot where the next blow will land. i did nothing but to cry tears silently for i was afraid of my father. A FAMILY PORTRAIT, a memory of how arguments lingered on our dining room like chandelier,as for a picture of my family together i wanted to improvise other colors,but black was more concentrated on my mother's left eye, red was more on her broken heart.i was the precipitate of white of my mother's wedding dress. the more i wanted to draw the picture of US happy family the sadder i got. on my picture my mother stood on the left for my father said she can not do anything right, and on my right,it was my father with a face of worn out gladiators as in him there was nothing left but anger. on my left my mother was dressed with yellow dress covering the remains of her pride,a sad face to go with the dress. her smile was like a worm hole swallowing everything around her even me. she stands waiting for another blow so she can swallow her ego and cry in silence. my father was more of a drummer he would beat my mother bleed through my tears,i was the discord of the music my mother would make every time my father would strum her. he was the black shadow that take the white of my light and leave it red on my mothers face. my mothers shoulder broad enough to carry my father's remains while her spine collapsing from waiting for grace. how do you preach confidence to a child with a broken heart? on the right,my father dressed in shredded pride he wears black trousers he was like a stone dressed in flesh with skin more like a mosaic of misinterpreted feelings, he was standing there like a boxer in a ring to seal the fate of my mother.he right hand held on tight to bottle of vodka. i was that bottle of vodka every time he break her into pieces. me on the other other hand saw silver linings. when too elephants fight grass gets injured. i became the bridge between two broken pillars my chest was an alter of sacrifice, i was the painting my parents drew in black and red. by:TSHEDISO
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