Today, I am beginning
Only to end.
This body has blossomed in a field of green;
Has bled shades of red;
Stared at a horizon ablaze with yellow;
And now, this body will face
The bluest of skies.

Whether my skies are clear or
Consumed with droplets of rain,
I will always end up seeing
Nothing but blue.

Nothing but 10 shades of blue,
Until I see another sun set
Until a palette of colours are
Painted on the horizon
Until stars are forced to form constellations
Until a beginning of
A new morning.

But one day, my new mornings
Will not consist of
The bluest of skies.
There may be a hint of pink,
a touch of purple,
or a sliver of orange.

And that's okay.

Because weather forecasts were not meant
To only be clear blue skies and
Colours were not meant to have
Only one shade.

Blue possesses a fading beauty
Now unappealing
But never forgotten
It is THE last set of my own primary colours -
green, red, and yellow.
Once I set down this
Familiar brush dipped in
blue paint,
I will start anew with a
Fresh set of colours.

A clean canvas once again.

Today, I am ending
Only to begin.

I feel so little,
It's so hard to keep trying
When none notice you.

How can you hate poetry?
Its just like music but spoken through words that pour from your tongue.
Emotion that never runs dry.
“Rhymes are cliche and dumb” sprays from your lips,
and I concede... to an extent.
Yes, rhymes can be cages, chains sculpted not from steel
but from writers block and torn thesauruses.
Scrambling to find something to rhyme with drought...
doubt...
trout....
flout?...
in order to make your poem flow like a river.
But rhymes are not stupid.
They can make a poem more clean and polished.
But poems do not need to rhyme.
This was actually the first lesson I learned in my high school creative writing class.
When my teacher told us that I was thrilled.
The chains had been broken... temporarily.
Because poetry is not a simple lullaby,
nor can lullabies be classified as simple.
Art is not simple.
But people like to mock our written art because
“it’s easy” and
“anyone can write a poem”,
which is true.
But how many people can write a poem so painstakingly beautiful that the mere words bring you to tears?
Make you weep like you are again an infant in your mother's arms? Poetry is not easy. But anyone can do it.
As long as they know how to rhyme.

They say high school is the time for finding yourself.

I only found you,
but I think that's enough.