teamara

As in the nub of the remains of crayola crayon that’s been used to color in so many smiling cartoon suns on a piece of paper-
Her favorite color is yellow.
And I don’t mean a wimpy *** pastel yellow or sometimes a pale yellow
I mean her favorite color is bright *** yellow.
Like Pikachu yellow.
Like she’s almost nineteen but she’s still willing to play Gameboy Pokemon yellow.
There’s something innocent yet corny kind of yellow about her.
She’s beautiful like yellow jirasol petals
She’s intricate as yellow thread woven in a Rasta Dom
She’s yellow like gold and Africa
She’s sweet like pineapples and delicate like daffodils
I still don’t know why her favorite color is yellow
Maybe it has to do with her fascination of Asian men…
I mean! ...with the continent of Asia
She thinks she’s more like pink Japanese cherry blossom trees in the summer
But I know she’s truly yellow petals on Paolo Verde trees blowing in the wind spreading around Tucson
A metaphor for her love
She’s yellow like the color in the middle of my pride rainbow- She supports me
She’s yellow like the big painted sun at the hospital with a big grin
I wonder why nobody smiles at hospitals
The place where life is easily given as taken
Where we are reminded that our health is sometimes taken for granted
Other than that great big yellow sun
She is the only that radiates yellow and smiles
In waiting rooms, she seems like she’s the calmest
Even though she’s the only one going through surgery
She’s so beautiful on the inside her body can’t even take it
She doesn’t deserve scions or scalpels to even be considered touching her bronze skin
I wish instead they would strip down the color yellow from my life
And give it to her to make her smile so bright that even word “cancer” would cease to exist
But still. Even through pain and hardships
She still smiles. Not only is she yellow when she’s happy
She tends to radiate yellow even when she’s gloomy
When I’m upset, her aura has way of rubbing off on mine
And I get insight to why her favorite color is yellow
‘*** she’s the kind of yellow that represents strength
She’s yellow like tall forts made from gold bars
She’s yellow like flames that roll of her tongue when she spits fire
She’s yellow like a crayola-crayon… except she can’t be broken
From her, I’m learning
That even when you’re hurting
You can still shine bright like your favorite color.

We all have fought this far
To live another day in this realm of despair,
To have another breath in a land of make believe,
Just so we can collapse at the dawn of war

What is the point of joy
Just knowing it will last for ticks,
Taking it for granted as your eyes shred tears
As you realize it's all granted as a toy to play

As you fight, you stand your side
You realize the colors fade away
As your feet fall down you stay and sway
The sorrow coming from the trivial made

We collect and hide in decoys,
The pain and sorrow goes away,
But scars and memories do stay
In our minds and hearts of sticks

Then you wake up and stand up everyday,
Go repeat the day after yesterday,
What is the point of a yesterday
When there's nothing new today

We fight a trivial battle with our dire epoch
We run we sweat we fall to see another sunshine
We laugh we cry we frown to call ourselves a human
Just so we die.

Short nights.
We toured the sands of lake Erie.
Wet feet,
The flashlight beam breaking on rocks and waves and empty beer cans.
You laughed at me and we talked about finding a bear or
Maybe, in a few years, living together.

There was heat.
I was swinging and the trees were touching my feet,
Bending boughs before us and the cops came
So we piled in your car and you
Were called to “drive faster.”
Speeding up to catch the sharp exhale I
Let spread across your neck,
Trickling slowly off your collarbone.

We brought a camera.
And, negatives spoke volumes when we reviewed our faces;
You were looking at your feet and my
Eyes were on your lips.