i was sitting around my house, cooking dinner for myself, while i was working on some writing, and meanwhile i was in the other room taking a nap – when i was done with my nap i asked myself to sit still.
what are you doing? i asked myself, i’m gonna paint a portrait of you, i said to myself, so sit still. i am very fidgety though, this i know about myself, so the portrait came out a little bit off.
when it was done, i took a break from cooking, me and my self just looked on at the painting, trying to figure it out.
the eyebrows are a little off, i said. i think you’re right, i said. there’s just something about it that doesn’t quite capture the nature of me. i abandoned the painting and went back into the kitchen to continue working on dinner.
i asked my self what i was making from the other room and i yelled back homemade soup! it feels like a soup kind of day. yeah it does, i said, shuffling through my dirty clothes, scattered on my bedroom floor.
hey, i said to my self. don’t get too down about that self portrait. it’s pretty good. i think i had this strange look on my face.
when the soup was done i poured a bowl for my self and i sat around the living room watching documentaries on dead artists. frida’s my favorite, i said. she’s so good at looking internally and finding something external therein. what the hell are you talking about? i asked my self. nevermind, i said.
i slurped my soup so loudly. it drove me nuts. the lack of consideration. i tried to consider that some people have had habits for years and they’re not so easy to break.
when i was done with dinner i offered to do the dishes as a thank you for cooking dinner. i threw them in some hot water with soap and then i came back to the living room.
i just sat there in silence. i tried a couple times for conversation, but i already knew what i was going to say. i’d known my self for so long.
i looked across the room at the self portrait of my self and i thought to my self, i can do better than that. this is boring. i gotta get out more, but i didn’t say that out loud. some things are best kept from your self.


Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

3 thoughts on “SELF PORTRAIT OF MY SELF”

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