some people say that it is impossible to
explain the color red to a person blind from
birth but i disagree
because red is not only a color to me
it is a feeling
red is what i feel whenever he is holding my hand
and whispering stupid jokes to me in class
and i start to blush and i try to stop but i can't and
all i'm thinking is red, red, red
red is the feeling of the sun pricking you
with what feels like a thousand tiny needles
on your skin
red is the sweet taste of strawberries;
the sensation of bursting flavor that
automatically makes you smile
and some people use the color red
to describe anger or fear but
i can never imagine red as such a horrible thing
because when i think of red
i think of all the times we stayed up late and
the next day you would tease me about our
inside jokes and you would poke me and i would blush
and try to stop but i can't and red
is the color that i feel when we walk on
the beach until our legs ache and the sun is glaring at
us but we don't care we just
keep on smiling and it's all so
red, red, red
like the time that you stole all my strawberries
over the summer and
threw them at me and i ruined my
favorite shirt but that didn't matter
because your cheeks were red
from laughing so hard and oh god,
you looked beautiful

some people say that it is impossible to
explain the color red to a blind person from
birth but i disagree because red is not just a color
to me anymore; it is not what i learned from preschool art class
red is the feeling that i get when i am with you in
the summer and the sky is no longer blue
but more a pale pink and a dark red

let us toast,
my dear,
to making it this far.

even with our tortured minds
and glazed eyes;
hell,
who would've guessed it?

//

it's a good thing you don't wear mascara in public.
then again,
maybe it doesn't really matter.
you only cry when you're alone.

and i'm sure you're more broken than you seem,
though you still manage to get up and
plaster a smile
onto your cold, blank face
each dreary morning.

//

i am not the poster child of happiness,
or wealth,
or intelligence.
(they don't know that, though.)

failure is in my veins,
mistakes written into my skin
with permanent marker --
the same one they use
to write all those A+s.

//

is it really faking
if we believe it, too?

bravo,
bravo,
look how good we've gotten --
believing our own
little
white
lies.

but little white lies
never hurt nobody.

//

right?

We write, not because we think our ideals will change the world,
But because we know so.
We write not pages after pages so that people will follow us,
We write but a few words for those who are cultured enough to read them.
We write, because we wish to be read.