I am tired of chasing straw haired boys,
Who smell like earth and stability and everything that should be good for me.
I hurl myself like a meteor at them,
crash headfirst and they insist I am more fire rocket than girl.
He picks a girl who looks like him,
And I insist it is not because I am not straw haired.
But it eats at me, persimmons drip just like strawberries.
Why did you pick me if you could never even love me?
Juicy persimmon of the color spectrum,
you wait, as paint, for the right brush
to give you an imaginary life.
Live it up! Dance in all your glowing
intensity! Ultramarine now offers you
cooling shade, and a respite from all
that you so vibrantly are.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
— The End —