IS THAT ME?

Painting a cactus is like painting a self-portrait. It’s too real, too humorous. This pipe organ cactus has been telling herself stories in the dark. She’s entertained images of smooth green skin, symmetrical arms, and a full set of needles. She’s longed to be covered in blooms, to offer ample shade for company, and to gently mingle with the forget-me-nots. Oh, how she wants that image of herself to be true. Then comes the sun.
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The truth can sometimes greet you like a stranger. Light faithfully casts out all the false narratives she’s written. Her shadow is gentle but direct, and indisputably defined. It’s all there in black and white. 

Exposed — all her extra-long needles and the ones missing too, her aging form and unpolished silhouette. She’s surprised and reminded too — the height to which she’s climbed, the scars that have healed, her fixed trunk, and the direction in which she is growing. This she can clearly see. 
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In the dark, in the place where she envied and made-up stories, she forgot about what made her green and hardy and beautiful. The sun faithfully brings clarity that feeds the heart within (her beautiful lined skin).