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Lauren  Jul 6
Colorblind
Lauren Jul 6
By. Lauren

I can not see the shades of brilliance each color has to offer.
I can not see their variations of pigmentations.

I hear the word scarlet
But I can not imagine its complexion.

The word cobalt sparks confusion in my mind as to what one should see.

Colorblindness affects me every day.

When you look the color vermilion in the eyes a sense of anger glares back at you.
You say the color is violent.

To me the color is blue.
Sadness glares back at me.

I guess it has always been this way.
All color does is confuse me.

Why can't I be the same?
Erik Whalen  Nov 2018
Colorblind
Erik Whalen Nov 2018
As usual, the last juice in my phone battery petered out as the bluetooth speaker positioned on the picnic table started beeping and repeating the word "pairing" over and over.

That was the last bit of company that I would be able to fool myself with that night.

The rustle of the mighty firs and the deafening quiescence of the oak trees proved to be a captious audience, with the only essence choking back the seeping darkness a fire pit, searing brilliantly at nightfall.

The flames crackled and burst in the sap-filled wood, giving me an opportunity to drown the eve in the fire's sporadic, propulsive popping.

With no more music to accompany me in the night, I tuned my old guitar, which was resting in the backseat of my car, and I slowly worked out the notes to several melancholy acoustics that I treasured in earnest and frequented as I did eating and breathing.

My world should be quiet, but my brain never sleeps.

As if possessed by a sudden desire to purge old memories, I threw that old album that we so cherished in along with the next few logs.

In a panicked frenzy, I pulled the book as quickly as I set it down, hands searing from the heat, and I stamped out the flames with an old coat I had brought with me.

Throwing another log onto the campfire, I took a dried rag I had soaked in some copper chloride and watched as the flame that came out shined almost a sea-foam green, different from the azure I was expecting.

For once, the aforementioned seeping darkness had crept to the corners of the campsite as the brilliant display lit up the whole area, proving to both be a fantastic show of color as well as the first truly chromatic moment that had happened in ages.

No one had come, of course. It was as expected. It's cold as a glacier and there's hardly any beer, so I wouldn't really blame them.

That's it, maybe we're thinking glass half full.

Slumber met me with its sweet embrace, the only silence I would permit to befall me and the only silence I had been grateful to.

Pale sunshine pierced through a single cloud in the morning late.

A crisp chill and the light drip-pat-pat of the falling rain outlined my mood better than my words were able to.

I'm not sure what I need to feel satisfied, but a glass half empty is not a glass half full.

I checked my phone, which had been on a power bank all night, hoping to have companionship other than a text from my parents or a message from my girlfriend telling me to cheer up again.

Of course, the phone was only at 25%, and I had better get moving if I wanted to be home and enjoy the constant rattling of every day life that drowned these natural sounds out.

If I'm only half-here, then I might as well leave.

I must have been the last one to have been ground to rubble.

I had remained oblivious for many years, before I knew what it was to be without my trademark foolish optimism.

That pale sunshine would have served me a fiery orange, scorching the awoken sky in a torrid, infectious sprightliness.

What was once a glorious, chromatic panorama had become a single, stilted picture frame long discarded, the glass broken from frequented moments of reminiscing.

If I had left months ago, would any of you have remembered me?

As I prepared to leave, I picked up that old photo album, now singed at the edges, and picked up my slippers from the side of the fire pit, which were left to dry and instead showered in the early morning.

I threw the photo album in the trunk and packed the rest of my belongings, heading back home to Camillus where I could pretend that all of this noise was good for me.
Hey guys! Just a little string of free-form lines that I came up with during a choral observation last night, hope you enjoy them!
Whenever I revisit this
Finding myself frozen stiff
Free of time, where is my mind
Sickened by the simple fact that
You lied.

Giving you my tedious sympathies
When you thought I didn't know
While still revealing parts of me
That let my colors show

I watched it all from your backstage
Drawn to the drama, such intrigue
I can't deny, it felt sublime to be on your side
But then the clock was ticking...

For not too long, we weren't too strong
Before you started to bare your teeth
To show the world how cruel you are
Yet you are dull and bald and desolate.

At no moment was I surprised
So before you think you were a threat,
or some kind of warning
I hope you know it took not even one whole morning
To mourn losing
The idea
Of you

Assuming you were hidden well
Behind a curtain that you crafted
With thick fabric and the smell of smoke
Magic tricks and beanie caps
Actually turned out to be
Vacant and transparent spells

So don't you forget
I have stepped into your dark
Stuck and sticky with your tar
When your concern left you smitten
Thinking that you would stay hidden
Saying you could never lose me
Well I have seen the jejune you
And if I tell you my truth

There is simply nothing there.
The best thing that could have happened to you
was that this rhymed.
Mohannie Dec 2018
I remember what it was like to have a crush
It was a magical feeling, such a rush!

Having the thought that they might be the one
And when their eyes fall on me, it was I with the sudden feeling of stun.

But now as I grow older
My heart begins to feel colder

Why is this? I ask
My feelings are only a mask

Have I been hurt too much?
Maybe love and I are no longer in touch

I miss this feeling that we speak of
And perhaps, I will forever just be colorblind to love
This has kinda been bothering me for a while. I just feel like I haven’t had a crush or any motivation to have love in a long time. This is pretty stupid but eh.
DAF  Apr 1
color blind
DAF Apr 1
why are all my words gloomy?
aren’t there moments that are silver?
perhaps it is they pass too quick
mistaken just as grey
Hunter Sep 16
Here I am.
Reading between the l i n e s.
To be honest,
I’m quite lost.
Trying to find truth or comfort.

One step forward,
Two steps backwards.
I’m trying to keep my emotions down,
But I forget my eyes speak.

I’m becoming scared and tired at the same time.
This sadness is like being colorblind,
Listening to how colorful this world is from others.

My forest is dark,
And my trees are sad.
Listen I don’t control my thoughts,
I wish you could understand this.

Sleep isn't sleep anymore,
I use it to escape now.
My mood doesn’t just “Swing”.
They bounce,
Pivot,
And recoil.

While everyone moves on,
I’m stuck in this hole staring up.
Something in me just..
Broke.
That’s the easiest way to describe it.
For once my raw thoughts were able to come out, I try not to feel like this on a daily basis but sometimes it can get the best of me.
Skaidrum Apr 2017
...
I was born into this shadow of beauty we call the American dream, but I was raised in foreign silhouettes. The same exact silhouettes that raised my mother. My first memories were of her forest gods and alpine stories that have taught me how to write spiderwebs into the hearts of the miserable so my words could hold them together. My deadushka's magic could turn monsters into swans with a wink because his love was so contagious. My babushka's, on the other hand, showed me how to howl like darkness so even the wolves would know silence. I was born as spilled as it comes; as ink.  I now understand what tragedies look like at first;  ("Blessings")

As my mother picks her way across a war with me in her arms, the world catcalls that I am a half-blood puppet. The daughter with Russian strings and American footsteps. I arrive in America where I am reminded I belong here, but that was the first lie that my mother ever fed to me. To this day, it still tastes like expired love.

As my father spent all his kindness on me in the earliest years of my life I was given an English tongue and it bullied my Russian one into suicide. That is the only thing my father ever planted in me that he wanted to grow. Those seeds of words I would later bear fruit as ripe poetry.  Those fruit of the novels I will someday write as fiction into flesh. However, what is written beneath our skin doesn't necessarily always fit in our mouths. My father's greatest mistake was beating me into a ghost, but giving me the power to write about his hauntings.  His abuse moves into our house shortly after he realizes I am a tragedy, not a blessing.

As I write myself into the moon one day I will become, I meet a boy who's laughter makes all the planets look dull.  We learn to not walk like apologies, but like young legends. He was my first real taste of sunlight since I was brought here, and he spoke heaven into my eyes until I saw it. We loved each other like Peter Pan and Wendy did; deeply, cluelessly, and forever. Our immortality was a toy in the eyes of those who envied us. Yet he summoned the fires we should have feared as kids, but instead we stared into them and smiled. We were happy, and we were never sorry for that.


April 3rd, 2007. He died. That was the day I was old enough to grow out of a blessing and into the clothes of a tragedy. That was the day the heaven spilled from my eyes like the great flood and went with him. My mother theorizes that is why my eyes aren't as blue as hers anymore. The sounds of bullets hitting bodies today, even ten years later, between then and long ago, has the power to create painful afterimages of him. The post traumatic stress unfastens my blood from my my body and the poetry reacts by shutting me down all at once. Death asks me to write a spiderweb into his own heart, but I refuse.

I adopted grief into my family and he got along with abuse pretty well. To survive, I've left the nostalgia of that boy to hibernate deep in my bones.

Today is April 3rd, 2017.  I stand before a headstone that exists only sometimes in my head. I kneel before it and leave the skeleton of my love like a bouquet of roses. The shadows and silhouettes align, and I hold hands with both of them.

I weep as the odes of "it's not your fault" fall onto my ears like they do every year. From friends, lovers, and family. They mean well. Who knows, maybe someday I will have what it takes to believe them.

But he never grew up, so guilt still ***** it's wings here.


---"Sermons with a colorblind priest."
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Rose Amberlyn Jan 12
I’m painting you a million colors.
But none of them will stick.
They drip and drop,
From the canvas to the floor.

Without a face, without a name,
Who are you?
You’re mine.

But I’ll sit here colorblind,
And wait for you to come.
JR Rhine Jan 5
My grandfather peels an
X-chromosome off his liquor bottle
skips it across the pool of my mother’s genes
until it reaches me
yellow cigarette stained walls
green ashtray carpet on his tongue
blue back room full of old guitars
black mechanic oil stained hands
sandpaper voice
watching Jaws 4
homeless woman on couch
feeds dog black coffee
brown belly dragging across tongue
Thanksgiving dinners
my brother plays “Purple Haze”
out of a reluctant amplifier
the old folks applaud
the colors are beginning to
fade
he
battling cancer his way
watching Jaws 4
dog now dead
homeless woman now
no longer homeless
back skin where left ear
used to be
old guitars pawned for
drugs
Purple Haze fades to
black as colors do
and they say
it skips a generation
and now when shades
of pink appear white
my tongue grows thick
smoke burns my nostrils
and
I can only think of
how terrible of a film
Jaws 4 is.
For Tommy Robinson. Rest easy grandpa, hope you got that ear back.
the world falls apart right before your eyes
time moves fast, and loved ones pass
until you've lost living to time
emotions move on like you're falling behind
while the love fades away, beautiful paintings become colorblind
and the people you once knew
become someone else
until you cant recognize anyone
not
even
you
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