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Eleanor Apr 10
I adore the colour blue

Not the pale blue of assumed gender

Or the gloomy blue of english  

Teachers; seen in poems everywhere.

It's a royal blue



But without the fakeness of an emperor’s purple.

It's heavy.

You could drown in this colour.

Or you could wear it really well.

It's rarely seen.

Though it can be found if you look hard enough;  

Seen in the gleam of sapphires.

The light on computer monitors

That one poster on the wall.

Sometimes I cannot picture the colours

Simply the feeling it gives me


Encompassing stability


The feeling of a home I've forgotten.

To me this colour is a happy one.

(so no, these blue curtains don’t mean I have depression)

One day

After the too bright sun has passed for a final time.

I will pass by,

But I will be happy

Because my heaven will be blue.
Eleanor Apr 10
As she believes
And says her daily prayer.
As she relies on her faith
Knows her guardian angel is there.

As she asks for guidance
In being good and fair.
As she listens for answers.
She knows her God is there.

As she takes communion.
At least four times a week.
As she works to feed the homeless,
To defend the meek.

She's aware of her own sins
And how the church pretends to care.
As she asks for forgiveness.
As they pretend their sins aren’t there.

As they ask for collection
To add to their hills of gold.
She tries to be a good Christian.
To repent for their sins of old.

As the children make communion.
She looks with watchful eyes.
In case the priests take advantage  
Using the sin, they so despise.

As she says her prayers
For the young, poor women.
She asks for forgiveness for
How they treated them.

As she asks for protection  
for children all around the world.
She wonders why couldn’t be a priest.
Just because she was born a girl.

As she despairs about the church
And it’s past ruling by men.
She knows she believes in God.
But she doesn’t believe in them.
Eleanor Apr 10
Passive aggressive sticky notes,
Is what the game card says.
You both turn to look at me
But it’s not mockery or frustration in your eyes.
It’s the fondness, exasperation and amusement,
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.

It was a bad day.
I wasn’t expecting anything good
But I open your message
See the hearts, the I love yous and  
The promises of hugs you give when,
Knowing a person, a little too well.

You didn’t even question it,
When I called you Mark Antony,
When I defended you ruthlessly.
When I fed you jelly beans on my bed.
You accepted the quirks of your strange wife Caesar.
That comes from knowing a person a little too well.

We haven’t talked in a while.
We fought, grew apart, it happens.
I didn’t particularly want to see you again
But when we did have to talk, to interact,
To plan; we fit together still, painfully seamless.
The curse of you knowing a person a little two well.

I have no walls left around me.
You see through the armour I built for protection.
You know far too much about what goes on inside my head.
My strange thoughts, my naked truths,
The person no one knew I was, you know it, you see it.
Because you know me far too well
Friends; old and new, good and bad.
Eleanor Apr 10
I had a notebook filled with thoughts
These odd thoughts of mine.
One day I lost my notebook.
I left my thoughts behind.

My thoughts about the pains caused
When cruel things were said.
About my love of music
About wishing I was dead.

About the way my mind works,
The decisions that I make.
The friends I think hate me
The food I want to bake.

Do I want lace lingerie?
Or pretty little knives?
Should I learn to dance a waltz
Or practice how to drive.

Some thoughts were about projects
Some homework on my mind.
Have I worked hard enough?
Have I been kind?

This book was filled with all the things
That others should not know.
And now I cannot find it,
Where did my thoughts go?
If you come across them, please let me know.
RIP notebook
Eleanor Apr 10
If there are emotions I can’t
Name but can feel.
How do I tell if they
Are even real?

Be disturbed by this
Perfect mask of calm.
I’ll convince you that this
Is all I am.

All these thoughts, they plan
To get the best of me.
And here I thought  
That we’d all get along swimmingly

But instead I'm drowning in
This lake of mine
Not flying on wings
Falling from the sky.

There’s a wall
It's been hit by catapults.
On the other side things
Kept inside a vault.

The sliding scale of friendship  
Shows me where you are.
Explain to me how you managed  
To get so far.
Eleanor Apr 10
On a slightly battered couch,
In a warm yellow room,
I learned about a sparkle
Forgot my doom and gloom.

In a small kitchenette,
With pancakes by my arm.
I spoke about my history
Tried to defend you all from harm.

A plate of cookies in my hands.
Overjoyed smile on their face.
A feeling of contentment
Of knowing my place.

In a small music room,
With a ukulele and some drums.
O sang a sad song for you,  
But without feeling glum.

Table quiz in my hands,
Staring at a Christmas tree.
Wondering about carols
Forgetting the ever-present negativity.

Planning a celebration.
A festive rainbow Ball.
Knowing you’ll all catch me.
But also, wouldn’t let me fall.

Contained within a collection  
Of brightly coloured hair,
Was a sense of unity.
Knowing someone was there.

In a circle on the ground,  
A revolution to deploy.
I wonder how this happened,
When did I learn joy?
Written for a school competition, inspired by a lovely group of people i met at my local lgbt+ youth group
Eleanor Apr 10
Today we talked about Christmas  
and saw a Liverpool match on T.V.
While we tried not to let these things hurt,
Because that’s life for my family and me.

Yesterday I saw a red car
And friends of his walked by.
I also heard his favourite song.
And Robert asked when horse would die.

We must always count the dinner plates
And number of seats in the car.
We must constantly watch our words
Because pain is never far.

There are more red things in my life now
Than back when Aaron was alive.
I didn’t do that on purpose  
The colour just seems to thrive.

And if he was still here  
I'd share a Spanish teacher with him.
And still see jam on table clothes.
And porridge bowls filled to the brim.

I wear a red heart around my neck
And a blue one for me.
The green one’s on its way in the mail
To represent child number three.

I still use Viber to talk to people
But there’s no annoying messages to see.
And I always see boys with bright curly hair,
Whenever I feel lonely.

My runners look like the ones we bought him
Just before he died.
And dinner tomorrow would have been his favourite.
Something spicy, slow roasted, not dried.

Today we talked about Christmas  
And watched a Liverpool match on T.V.
And because these were once happy times,
They will now never be pain free.
There are a lot of small things related to loss that happen everyday. Everyone's experience is different but similar in how they affect you.
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