It is the delicate shell of a robin's egg right before it hatches.
It is the explosion of bubbles as you dive headfirst into a pool.
It is Cinderella's dress as she danced unafraid for the very first time.
It is the sky in sunny California, interrupted only by palm trees.
It is the burst of berries in your mouth to cool you against the summer heat.
It is the wave that kisses the shore no matter how many times it's sent away.
It is the glitter of sapphires, dug up as we asked the earth for its secrets.
It is Van Gogh, who so loved the world he'd rather leave than cause it any pain.
It is the uniform of those who protect us by sea and will drown for our freedom.
It is the unexplored depths of the ocean.

So maybe,
just maybe,
it isn't such a bad thing to feel this blue after all.

It is turtles and frogs that crawl around the rocks, quieter than the lazy stream beside them
It is inch-long caterpillars and the translucent leaves they punch holes in.

It is the light taste of avocados, smooth as cream and refreshing as air.
It is the softness of a freshly mowed lawn between your bare feet,
It is the crisp scent of mint in your tea.

It is the seaweed tangled around your legs as you sprint and fall face first into the waves.
It is the rivalry hanging in the air as you and your friend volley the tennis ball back and forth

It is the glow of emeralds in the darkness of hidden caves.
It is the pine tree sitting in your house, reassuring you that life and joy still exist, even in the barren month of December

I’m trying to conclude with a witty remark, find some clever line to end this
But it seems that even though I can write about it
I really don’t have the luck of the Irish.

It is newborn ducklings and chicks that struggle to climb out their broken eggshells.
It is daffodils that bloom in the spring to greet the warming sun.

It is juicy ears of corn that signal the start of heat and happiness.
It is your puckered cheeks as you down another glass of cool lemonade and search desperately for shade.

It is Pac-Man and the taste of macaroni and cheese that whisk back to your childhood.
But it is also the taxicab that offers you the shot to begin again, ten thousand miles away from home.

It is the Beatles and their submarine, promising a life of ease and all you need.
It is the sparkle of champagne as you toast to the New Year.

It is the color of mornings and rebirth and second chances
So I guess it’s only natural that it happens to rhyme with “Hello.”

It is the sharp tang that greets your tongue in the morning, kickstarting your heart with sugar and Vitamin C.

It is the satisfying crunch of carrots drowning in cool ranch.

It is a plastic ring that reassures you of safety as the boat wobbles and you panic about falling over the railing.

It is the line of luminescent cones that guide you along the right path, and the sound of construction overhead.

It is the sun's goodbye as it fades from the horizon and moves on to greet the other side of the world.

It is the glow of a traffic light that blinks slowly at 3am, barely awake as the rest of the world sleeps peacefully around it.

For a color whose name has made every poet's life difficult
there are quite a few times in the day when it sure makes life seem very easy.

It is the color of her lips as she looks up at you through her eyelashes.
It is the heat running through your veins as you whirl across the dance floor.
It is the incomparable rush of bidding your sanity farewell (because one more drink wouldn't hurt, right?).

It is the taste of strawberries in the summer sun and the sound of Coke cans popping in the ocean breeze.
It is the smell of flowers growing on clifftops where most people never dare to go.

It is all you can see when you scream.

It is romance, catharsis, anger, exhilaration.
And it reminds you that you are alive.

I imagine being loved is like living on a star

It warms you at first
to know that you are someone’s prayer
their evening wish
the nightlight they hang their dreams on before falling asleep

And you smile a blinding smile as you realize that you,
one miniscule speck in the Milky Way
are a source of their inspiration and hope

God, how it burns though,
once you realize that only you can chase away their nightmares
then comfort them at the lonely hour of 2 am

And the tears they leave on your skin
are third-degree burns
because with each cry for help that you answer
everything you say begins to sound more and more like
“I will never leave”

But every star has an expiration date
and the brighter you shine
the harder it will be for them to escape unscathed
when you finally break

There is a reason it was called Atlas’s burden
To be loved or not to be loved: be careful what you choose
For when you promise to carry their world on your shoulders
it will be the first time you have everything to lose.