a bewildering thing
to get caught up
with these delicate wings
that could still flutter half-drunkenly
and not chisel away
from hearts that became edible
they probably taste like
threads of sugary blue fairy floss
it still held, bottling in
the taste of you
i want to bite into you in the gentlest way
i want to feel your nectar dribble down my cheeks
i want to let you bite into me as well
peach fuzz, you look at the world and see it as it is
but you want to turn it into what it could be.
i see you planting trees and dropping seeds
wild, a blue haired enigma
i want to walk through the forests you sprout
the walls and floor were blue
in the long standing home of jazz.
i sat in that room on a wednesday afternoon
and felt that color
travelling in my veins.
i imagined the room was filled not with
sunlight and the chatter of teenagers but with
moonlight and music in that melodic silence.
i tried to absorb the aura of
that room to have for myself and breathed deeply
so i would remember the taste of blue. i imagined
myself boldly uncovering the piano on that stage and
imagined the names and legends embedded in its keys.
i heard the music of times gone now,
resounding against the walls and coloring the
wild yellow audience to subtle periwinkle and
deep sapphire and even wilder blue and
suddenly i realized why the sky is that hue;
God Himself must have taken a seat there, in that
modest blue room on
18th and vine
and it made perfect sense.
this beautiful revelation i found on
a sunny wednesday afternoon
is dyed in blue.
i wonder if, sitting in that room and just thinking, i found a miracle or if i found a little bit of God. or music
they see him running on sunbeams in the early morning. stars are tied to his toes and they rattle behind him like chains, but he has never felt so liberated. there was a time when atoms were exploding in his lungs and he could not breathe, colors would fly behind his eyes and he could not see. his skin was numb from too many suns burning beneath the surface. he used to curse the morning; now he holds it in his hands and sprinkles it down upon us.
he still sees himself as human, is that a surprise? though he is stardust and the remains of energy, he is flesh and blood first. he came from the womb, not from the sky. he knew his hands before he knew his wings; he knew his words before he knew his magic. he dances with the snow on winter nights only to melt it away in the day. he drinks golden wine, it’s gods ichor he sips. he twirls his curls around his fingers and whistles tunes only the bluebirds understand. he runs barefoot through forests and though his feet may bleed, he brings the sunlight with him and that’s all he needs. he trips on skies and sips waterfalls, throws his wishes into wells. he can make miracles happen. what being in the world would want to make such magic angry?
a thousand suns have tried before, to hold him in their burning grasp. there is no force known to us that can contain him where they lack.
I was almost halfway packing
every version of myself today
all the questionings
of my own enoughness,
of my own too-muchness
yet somehow, I’m back here
feet slapping the pavement, consciously
missing two passing trains by the subway
they can get a little too wild
spilling puddles of blue ink
musing over nights of
how I wouldn’t sleep the same
perhaps, not long since
people end up becoming like
she was pale,
like a ghost.
maybe she was one.
she was smiling at me.
her lips were blue.
her silver fingers
tapped along the
she had a blue pen.
uncapped, poised to write.
blue ink flowed out;
the pen broke,
ink spilling on her hands.
she didn't mind.
she told me she liked
she is dead.
The color blue is all I know now
Your bruised irises leading to your
Tightly wound heart strings
There is music inside your laughter
There are artworks in your smile
I fall asleep on the softness of your lips
I forget trauma in the wake of euphoria
My angels' hymns are all about
I am so elated to have met you
The color blue is my favorite now
Your halo shines like a light through
Stormy dusk and evening tempests
There is no dawn like your "good morning"s
There are no ways to eclipse your "I love you"s
I lay my bones before you
I read the lines in between you and I
My poetry is the way I hold on to you at night
Dreams of you
asleep or awake
Are the best I have ever known
Rainy summer days
Fall on me in waves
A purple sky
A western wind
A humid breathing kiss
They fall on me
As waves of you
I hope to soon forget
You left me like
A rising sky
Over a passing tide
Dry and brittle
Your love and warmth subside
I had to wait
Few seasons time
To feel the sun again
And when i did
I knew somehow
My life began again
The girl I love
smiles like it’s her job,
for the benefit of others,
because happiness to her
is like a t-shirt that doesn’t fit.
Her heart is a minefield,
a bomb zone, a civil war
cold and blue
from too much oxygen-thirsty blood.
Her cheeks are stained with tears.
Her cheeks are stained with tears.
Her lips are coated with pink honey,
her words are tattooed with the feeling of dysphoria.
They’re blue when she speaks;
almost everything about the girl I love is blue.
She is everything to me,
my world is a blue moon
over a blue fog,
my world is blue rain
and blue puddles,
it's a scene from a movie,
an abandoned battlefield,
it's soggy blue eyes
under a soggy blue sky
behind cold white hair,
This blue girl is my everything.
This blue girl calls me
baby, she calls me honey,
her letter in scarlet,
her eyes wide open
and her night time darling.
But really, to the blue girl,
I’m just another warm mouth to kiss.
when i feel your gaze rest upon me
a weight is lifted from my heart
and another is placed upon my throat.
for when you (who is perfect)
and i (who is damned)
join eyes like the mixing of mud and
you steal my words and tear out my voice
imprison me within your sight
and i comply.
for it is you (who is perfect)
and i (who is damned)