Tonight I think I will paint my thoughts
And slick black cynicism on each nail
Wondering while they dry
How many poems titled Love
Written but never finished
And how many children actually use the white crayon
In the box of 63 other choices
With a sharpener on the back
I am that ****** white crayon
And my own box of 24 wouldn't last a week
Because I always used the Sunshine Yellow
And never touched the Cornflower Blue
That transparent, cold, doctor's office blue
But I regret it now
Because I know how that **** feels

On Tuesday, my silly mind
raided its cluttered drawers
For a scrap of reason as to why
she won't deserve
a sunset hour by your side
On this or any Friday

I am a meal
At the mouth of an ocean
Disappearing along with the tide
Arms and legs devoured by teeth
The enormous blue giant inside

I struggle to regain footing
As I'm rapidly carried away
The icy waves an electric shock
Stealing me with their sway

In the distance, the shore
She stretches astray
dissolved into deep
and sparkling waves

However, out here
the water is soothing
I’m floating on liquid sky
My mind is clear
my body numb,
my panic, I’ve forgotten why

I let myself slip into the darkness,
like sheets on summer nights
Sweetly surrendering to the sea
Forgive me, I quit the fight

Lovely... is the sound of humming
smooth bass notes through the air

Lovely... is that certain scent
of clean laundry and his hair

Lovely... is the blush of my cheeks
every stupid time he winks

Lovely... is the copper silk my hair
resembles, he thinks

It's not that I don't want to write
It's that I don't want to write
What you want me to write
Because they are your words
And not mine

I write what I love
And I love what I write
[sometimes]

I take the things I like
And I write until I like things
But not tonight

Not when I am required
To follow this prompt
And I didn't read the book
Because I read a book I liked
Instead