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Malia May 13
I used to be hues of yellow,
Green, blue, purple, and red.
With the sky as my soul
Feeling vibrant and bold
Like the stories I spun in my head.

A girl made of stars
Is bound to burn out
If her light can no longer be fed.
Learned the rules, learned the game,
Then I scrapped my old ways,
Sinking in water that I used to tread.

Your face was a charcoal portrait,
So I touched it to just see you smile.
But I smudged you all up and I’m covered in gray,
And the light, it retreats when I’m in the sun’s rays,
And I feel like the night everyone wishes was day—

But I take a deep breath.

And I find that old spark.

Just to realize that it never even went away.
“My childlike creativity, purity, and honesty is honestly being crowded by these grown thoughts.”

— Kanye West
Carla Marie May 4
i missed my calling
but not my window
ive lived to tolerate
about my age
and my grays
and better days
but its okay
cuz my best days are
right now...

window still wide open
letting in and out
my flow...
and peaceful chaos
and sultry ****
from all the years of
**** i know
Josie Apr 21
Don't look at gray clouds for answers
Dull, blurry, nondescript
They cloud the mind
With mystery and uncertainty
Here today but gone tomorrow
Like a dream lover
Heidi Franke Feb 2
He was in his cell
Twenty three hours a day
Never was he an animal
Yet treated as such

The echoes off the walls, bounce
The metal doors that clang, bang
Endless boredom after
All the books are read
He paces his eight feet

Gray dulls the senses
Lack of color, lack of life
He saw a bug inside
The other day, alive
Looking up at him
Another form of life, different,almost brand new
His voice filled with hope through the Pauses

It rained and the summer was hot
They were released for the hour
Choices that are made in that precious time
He went outside where there is only the cement
Laid on his back, spread his arms like an eagle, like an offering
Letting the rain Fall onto him,
just so He could feel Something
Sharing the experiences between a mother and son. The son is incacerated. Too many non violent people are imprisoned for far too long.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2023
Lift the veil from a grayscale morning. Vividly imagistic. An odalisque no more.

Her shape beneath the gown is a foreign land, a series of quiet revelations. Its pattern manifests as pinpricks of light perforating the shirred fabric of his heart.

The preponderance of dream in her eyes becomes a call and response evoking purely imaginary spaces. The contained chemistry is beautifully insular, monochromatic.

And there her lips. Into claustrophobic kiss. This lower register of love comes in unadorned, subtle colorings like the darkest part of night.

One thousand shades of gray.
One single light of white.
And everything merges in the night.

anotherdream May 2023
i don't live in black and white
i only see through faded gray lenses
a clouded picture of what is reality

a forgettable moment here, a wasted opportunity there
i am surrounded by moments of dulled memories

my emotions are at rest
but they live in my head
dragging me down day by day
eventually i will stumble and fall
and i do not know if i will get up again

i see the world through a polaroid camera
where everything present is also the past
things that are often memorable
just slip through my purple hands

no one understands
why i never had a chance
to feel something, anything

i am treated like a nobody
cause nobody wants to get to know me

do i come off as vile,
hiding my pain and faking my smile?
i'm giving it everything i got
to be what people want
it has led me nowhere except deserted roads
where i'm greeted by that cold familiar friend
the demon that lives within

there is a void from within my chest
cause sacrificial love is dead

i have tried so many times but to no avail
i cannot fill it up with friends
no one cares enough to even give a flying f--k

this emptiness inside, it might just consume me whole
the longer i go deprived, with no one at my side
the stronger it gets, the harder it gets
it feels like i'm merely trying to survive
this hell we call earth
sort of a freewrite i guess?
Rickey Someone Mar 2022

Retreating shadows, the night has lost
Victorious day, but what is the cost?
The trees leave their leaves around
In piles here and there on the ground
The cold air stings my lungs and my face
And my numbed bones become like a brace
The black of night turns greens to yellows
The lack of light is poison the world swallows
Blue skies slowly give in to the grays
Low clouds with white flakes and dark haze
It’s daytime now, but what did we lose?
The night has left us bitterly bruised.
I S A A C Feb 2022
lustful and untrustful
screaming matches and rebuttals
worn out muscles and tear puddles
but what did we win, cards caving in
whichever way you try to spin, swan song on the violin
whichever play you do, your eyes get under my skin
I can see the hurt, the guilt, the shame
I tried to heal, build, and begin
again and again, return to my zen listening to Gwen
escape to my four white walls and write songs
each melody washes away the pain of yesterday
each harmony bringing back the colour to the gray
lifeless self I let my body become
dancing to the beat of my own drum
Zoe Mae Feb 2022
The Moon has had her fill this night
Her belly swollen with stolen light
Seems as though she's swallowed the Sun
Her descent into madness merely begun
Now we have neither night nor day
Just a never-ending melancholy cycle of gray
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