He was dusty blue and molten pink,
Unabashedly himself, and yet still unsure.
A healing soul surrounded by broken hearts
In a world that dares not say, “We have seen the enemy and he is us.”
“I have three poems, and I’m not even sorry.”
When he finished, he raised his arm in the air,
And the definition of regality changed its meaning for me.
The only person I’ve ever seen with my eyes
To encapsulate its meaning
Was this blonde beautiful man
Whose eyes kept contact like a held hand,
Whose slightly breaking voice when reading echoed the nights of crying that
Kept him so soft.
We exchanged puzzle pieces of our soul with the trading of words,
both mouths pressed to the same mike at different times,
At one point in our lives it was the vessel giving CPR
Keeping us alive
But now, as effortlessly as a sigh,
We draw in those who are unsure
They aren’t quite what others make of them.
We live to perform
Our souls are too massive to keep to ourselves
We must share them on the stage
So those afraid
*When I was a kid, my favorite colors were blue and pink,
The colors of a pink lemonade sunset, I said.
During those specific lucky sunsets,
It seemed like the sky was burning itself in the sweetest fashion,
So that the earth could have a taste of how strongly the atmosphere truly loved him.