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Alleigh Peterson Dec 2017
and making me want to die was something you were always good at.
not in a bad way
because for someone who has been suicidal since age 11,
that means you made me feel something.
feeling something has been a problem of mine for a while now
i either feel it all or nothing
and my therapist tells me that's
"black and white thinking"
and i tell her
"no, it's realistic"
and she laughs and tells me i must be colourblind
but the world has so many different tones of grey
and i tell her i know
i just can't see them yet
and she sends me home with a worksheet to fill out
she says bring it back tomorrow for our next session
but the worksheet asks me questions i don't have the answer to
"what's your favourite shade of grey"
almost arbitrary
could be written off
but i feel the breath catching in my throat
because i don't think about grey anymore
grey reminds me of the colour in your eyes
a colour chart that ranges from silver lining
to solitaire
you've ran off again
and i have to be honest
i'm glad that when
you left
you left
me colourblind
because i can't see grey without thinking of you
and i can't see your note so it's another night of feeling nothing
feeling something
feeling it all
Raunak Mar 2019
What is blue?
They say it’s the colour of the sky
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, covering my sky with your compassion
The wisdom of your words, the comfort of your embrace
They say the say the sky watches over the world
But the one watching over my world, is you
I can now see the colour blue.

What is green?
They say it’s the colour of the forest
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, bringing out sides of me I didn’t know I had
Just as the forest harbours all forms of life
You brought out all forms of mine
The child, the man, and all things in me unseen
I now see the colour green.

What is red?
They say it’s the colour of a rose.
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, touching your soft lips to mine
The tenderness, the electricity, the passion you conveyed
Ran through my lips, my veins, all the way to my core
Your eyes said the rest, everything that was unsaid
I now see the colour red.

What is grey?
They say it is the colour of a rainy day.
Wait, this looks familiar, for I am colourblind!
Ah, the clouds, the drops, the world I’ve always known
But why is it so different, what are these colourful dashes in the way?
Have I always felt so much, did my smile always stay?
No, I see red, I see green, and I see blue
I now see the colour of you.
I went to my eye doctor
And told him I was unstable.
He gawked at me from across the table
Thankfully he tested me
For otherwise I couldn't see
The light in life
Or colours of the trees.
You see, my broken heart was very unkind
Causing me to go colourblind
TheMeanBean Feb 2018
I can’t see, I try but I can’t

Without all those colours, life is bland

Everything has turned to grey

From happiness to dismay

In the blink of an eye

Time to say goodbye

To your perfect little life

It’s turned into a struggle to survive

But my problem is my head

Not those two eyes of mine

I think my brain is dead

My eyes are working just fine

I envy those around me

Enjoying their lives, being free

Whilst I’m trapped in a grey environment

All dark, blurry and violent

Streams of tears trickle down my face

Are those tears or is it blood?

I should check, just in case

For I can’t distinguish one from the other

Then how am I ever to discover?

I’m full of open gashes

They hurt and I see flashes

Of my past, catching up to me

Leave me alone, I desperately plead

The present is still haunting my body

The future looks the same, a carbon copy

Full of hate, despair and depression

Introspection is the name of this session

Please don’t use discretion for your self-expression

Not a single concession it’s your possession

Say no to oppression, no to suppression

For you have to help yourself here

It’s a difficult road to get rid of the fear

To be free from the the thought

The one that your depression brought

The one occupying all of your brain


You’re stronger than that,

Please just have a little chat

About your issues, with anyone you trust

Your problems will decrease when discussed

Don’t stay colourblind, 
There’s too much you’re missing

Open up to people, don’t stay hidden

Depression is colourblind too

No matter how you look, it’ll find you

Do you know how long it look

For me to discover what was wrong?

Way longer than I could stay strong

But I figured it out, no I haven’t

I preach this advice, but my mind is still absent

Still struggling, but I think I know what to do

How to actually fix this, oh I wish I knew

It’s certainly hard, it’s a struggle

Chucking around all these emotions

Don’t even know how to juggle
I let them all fall, they crack and break
Don’t have emotions anymore,

All I do is fake

I envy those around me

Enjoying their lives, being free

Whilst I’m trapped in a grey environment

All dark, blurry and violent

Streams of tears trickle down my face

Are those tears or is it blood?

I should check, just in case

For I can’t distinguish one from the other

Then how am I ever to discover?

What I feel like

Who I am

This whole thing called life is a scam

It’s not what they told me it’d be

Or is it too soon, when will I be free?

When will I see colours, I don’t understand

They ask about my favourite colour, I pretend

“Oh it’s blue, or red or something..”

I know it’s wrong, I feel disgusting

I shouldn’t lie, I need to speak

As life keeps looking bleak

Don’t know how long I’ll survive

Not just pretend to live a life

I want to enjoy, laugh and discover

Not having to recover

From thinking for too long

That’s just what is wrong

I’m sick, so sick

From myself I’m so thick

I know what is wrong, but assistance?

I’d rather have some distance

Settled on coexistence

Gave up any persistence or resistance

Along the way,

The cost is that everything stays grey

Everything tastes the same

I claim I’m not to blame

I live in shame, 

Seeing who I became

I became weak, a grey character

Not knowing if I’m good or bad

Doesn’t matter, not a competitor

Simply breathing, going mad

It’ll be alright, it’ll sort itself out

Keep telling yourself that friend

As you drown in this drought

Of emotions
poesuer Jun 2014
When I was younger
I loved the world
I saw no suffering
Pain is a distant myth
Bees fly high in their way
Birds singing their cheerful melody
Cats and dogs played chase till sun's end

That was a wonderful time

And what did you do to it?

"Stupid boy, that's not right"
Your words were foreign to me
I have not heard them
I tilt my head and ask you

"Dumb boy, you have an attitude"
These words again
No definition in my mind
I ask you again
What do you intend with these words?

"Your mother has done wrong in raising you, undisciplined, disobedient, you'll get nowhere in life"
Am I one to be trained like a dog?
I begin to think
What have I done?
No answer comes to mind
But maybe what I do right is wrong?
Maybe that's what it is
It must be
No other reason explains it

What have I done right?
I can't tell
Not anymore
The lines between right and wrong start fading
It was right, right?
Or definitely wrong.
Or is that wrong?
I don't know

Now years later
I still don't tell
I can't
Not because I lack the effort to try
Just the motivation
I tried again
And my efforts are failing me
So why try now?

It all makes sense to me
Good and bad
I can't understand your reasoning
That's my downfall
Empathy is not something I am not capable of
But I don't think you are

I think I might of been able to tell
Long ago
But you beat that out of me

The perfect vision to see
I see no lines anymore
Colourblind to green and red

Fades out to gray

And soon

It'll fade out to white

And I won't know

If that's right
Another old-ish poem.
laura-jessica Jan 2018
depression is like being colourblind.
expect your colourblind to happiness.

you know it exists and you know its there.

and you want to see it.

but you see you see the world in the lens of depression.
Unheard-of Nov 2013
They say roses are red
and violets are blue
But what if I'm colour blind?

What if roses are blue
and violets are red

What if the grass is grey and the sun is black?

What If your love is fake?
You're a mistake.
But wait
Don't hesitate

To take your blue roses
and your red violets
with you

And give them to the next girl in line at the flower shop

Let's hope she's not colour blind too
LAICEY Aug 2017
Our every word that comes out
has the potential to **** when
your seemingly fragile but villainous
lips caresses my weaponed tongue
encouraging the venomous noise to be
reborn again and again.
Soft yet viscious touch.
I demand for more.
I urge for attention.

Patience is running thin!

I never even looked away from the
light in your eyes
but you were watching my entire flesh
rot in the colours you gave me.
When you left, all went dark
for the light in your eyes were just
fires that burned too bright
and couldn't last.
It was then
when I was standing all alone
in the black hole you helped me create,
the one that ****** away everything I loved,
I realized that I was colourblind,
that your touch and your words
were bleach that sunk into my core,
leaving me only in black and white.
~ part 2 ~
this is the second half of a two-piece poem,
this is how the masterpiece ends.

"Masterpiece" and "Colourless" can be read as two entirely separate poems, however, they were originally written all in one poem but due to further alterations, they were suited to be split in two.
© 2015/17 August LAICEY Poems
I know that the
grass is green and
sun red, but sometimes
yellow like dandelions,
and the earth is brown
just like trunks of trees.
I know the skies
are painted in blues
that eventually fade
into mauve, at some point
coalescing into the seas
and limpid waters of
sun-kissed beaches, where
strange exotic fruits would
entice with violets and amaranths
redolent of a night on
some far island, stood
beneath the stars whilst
they shine white like...
a million ways out.
Each one a brush,
showing me the palette.
But everything just looks
grey and dark and
Barker Sep 2017
Life is black and white
With a bit of grey.
This world which I see is very dull.
I try to see
The in-between
But I can't
Seem to free
Myself from the
Black, white and grey
That I see
Em MacKenzie May 2018
As I slide on through the wet pavement,
the puddles don't vibrate or shake.
The rain doesn't stall, the drops continue their fall,
each splash pushes my cracks to break.

As I sit under a dark blanket of stars,
I reach out into only empty air.
No one passes by, I don't catch a single eye,
I'm plagued and cursed but can't bring myself to care.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
Hectic routine clearly outlined,
lip bit and my teeth grind,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

While I sail through the sky with no safety net,
no bird seems worried for my form,
they don't even blink, they just watch on as I sink,
and they're ready and anxious for my body to swarm.
I always was known as a storm.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
The sun never showed or shined,
it was stuck, chained in a bind,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

Once walked along each path
with only untied shoes,
and I felt heartbreak's wrath,
and the old lovers blues,
got the brittle in each bone
and my spine's growing weak,
in the end we all die alone,
but I witnessed a smile in each beak.

A reward for my lost mind,
a rainbow for the colourblind,
emptiness fills to the core.
A mute that never signed,
A soul too late to find,
I've been hiding in a metaphor.

Into the shadows I blend,
never to see light again,
I've been holding doors to my metaphors for you.
Into the shadows I blend,
one day the dark will be a trend,
I've been holding doors, hands covered in sores for you.

Oh I was on fire that night,
now the stars blur in my sight,
I've been holding doors to my metaphors for you.
You know I'm here just like I was then,
I will be there when you come again,
I've been dying and crying on hardwood floors for you.

There's no simile to describe me,
no comparing or analogy,
just one white blank page.
There's no simile to describe me,
no imagery or allegory,
just one lonely cage.
lowercasemmmmmm Jul 2014
I never had that pause that you held on for on my lips
so much asylum searched and sought after in the name of right and wrong,
mentally rescued from the north where the winds of indifference never blow
I beat myself up, I tried to paint you but you let me down,

one more chop at this merry-go-round of static art
take out its fuse as this fare isn't fair, naked and soulful,
do you dream of true and honest freedom, can you see I'm not cold
no, I dream of colours and I wish I didn't know what they are,

I will sit a chair while you sketch me in charcoal
shape me like unclothed clay in the caress of your gentle fingers,
I wont spare your blushes if you don't spare mine
we're both colourblind, we're inside out,
Em MacKenzie Nov 2018
Tell me I’m not stupid for allowing myself to feel,
searching out for the next wound before letting the former heal,
I’ve been convincing myself that the invisible path is real,
but it’s not wide enough for two; one can stand and one can kneel.

If there’s anything in this world that tightens my chest,
it’s the moment I am strangled by vulnerability.
I keep it chained away to the very best,
to the very best of all my abilities.
Take all those thrown away phrases
and piece them back together to hit my ears
it’s funny how the long silence still amazes,
amazes me after all these quiet years.

Are you Sonic the hedgehog,
‘cause this is a chaos emerald.
Wipe away the tears to see the fog,
my world shakes when once it trembled.
I’ve got an easy road ahead of me
where the path could be so easy,
but I’m drawn to walk into the sea,
I wish that instinctive pull would leave me.

We humans are such destructive creatures
we turn soil to scorched earth with just one touch.
It’s the curse of emotions and all it features,
makes us decline a cast and accept a crutch.
We fall prey to our monsters like a disease,
do I pick life support or a clean cut cure?
A solid steel spine or weak and shaking knees?
Toxic lungs or a gasp of air too pure?

Should I swallow this gulp of mundane routine
conform and erase all individuality?
The white picket fence in photographs is so pristine
but it’s covered in dust and mold the naked eye can’t see.

My storybook ending is incomplete
as I didn’t much care for the ending.
I traded in tragedy instead of something sweet,
‘cause I’ve never been so good at pretending.
All along there are holes both in the souls and plot,
and I wish to roll but can’t afford the toll as empty hands are all I got
Em MacKenzie Aug 2018
I tell myself I’m no longer going to care
my brain, soul and heart are checking out today,
but it doesn’t matter because no one is there,
no one came and no one will ever stay.
If someone needs to reassure you you matter,
it’s probably because they show you that you actually don’t.
There’s so many choices but they always pick the latter,
and they promise to fix things but they actually won’t.

I found something that’s true,
it’s common from coast to coast,
that the ones who say they’ll never hurt you,
are the ones who do it the most.

I promise myself that I am done
that each day marks the start of a new life,
but the battle’s fought and you’ve already won
and I’m left covered in the blood of my strife.
If someone needs to say they care about you,
it’s probably because they never actually show it.
‘Cause I’m holding a white flag that turned blue,
and it’s waving only cause they blow it.

I found something that’s true,
it’s wisdom I care not to boast,
but the ones who promise never to dessert you,
are the ones who do it the most.

I found something that’s true,
it’s common from coast to coast,
that the ones who say they’ll never hurt you,
are the ones who do it the most.

My walls were always tall
and impossible to breach
but the only wrecking ball
was a lesson I could now teach.
I left a small crack on the side
hoping someone would make it in,
and when they did, I denied
they were ever there to begin.

I want to be wrong,
I want to be reassured,
that I am actually strong
and that my skin was never disturbed.

I found something that’s true,
I’ll raise a glass to this toast.
The ones who say they’ll never break you
are the ones who do it most.

I found something that’s true,
it’s common from coast to coast,
that the ones who say they’ll never hurt you,
are the ones who do it the most.
Matthew Bennett Apr 2016
It's funny how yin and yang represent interconnected forces,
yet its colours are a separation in society,
not for evil and good,
or darkness and light,
but black and white,
society is split between genes of pigment,
when we should be an interconnected figment;
a world where all minds work for a central brilliance.

We live in a world with belligerence televised,
so that the ignorant propaganda prospers through the colourblind,
society implies the wise to be forgettable
while putting people on the pedestal
who have lacked the drive to strive for a better tomorrow,
but instead accept the sorrow
of today and spout segregation
towards those with a passion for action
to make the world a better place.

The slant of your brow grants a complexion of aggression,
as you delay the progression of people over
race, ***, money, interests, religion,
your personal gain is priority over minorities,
we're equal yet you feel your genetic lottery gives you authority to ordinarily put down the mind of your peers.
We're all victim to the same illness as we inhale the same air, contaminated by the lies of a central despair,
in a society controlled by so many xenophobic fears.

But when Armageddon hits and Earth is engulfed by red-hot flame, these vultures will seep venom and be banished to the devil while better people beckon for a better world, better homes, more love, they will ensemble as a single entity,
and a better life will emerge for those who deserve
with their vision disillusioned
they may harbor the fruition of the new fruit,
while the unholy tarnish their racist ideals ruined,
the righteous will harness positivity within these new roots.
chris Nov 2015
blood is black
tears are white
since the day you left
i've become helplessly

my soul is black and white.
all the colour has been ****** out
George Anthony May 2017
vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vacancy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin

ocean sky, motel room five
my car's banged up, parked in the drive
she's a little rusty but she's still a sweet ride
come jump in the passenger side
one for just tonight, for old time's sake
i miss you so much it's impossible to take
a poem once taught me what it's like to be heartbroken
ne'er reall' believed it 'til those little words were spoken

are you smiling at the sunrise
the way you did with me?
does he drown in your eyes
instead of looking at the sea?

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vanacy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin
my hands are cold without yours to hold
suddenly i'm colourblind without you in my world
there's so little beauty without you here to smile
please just let me stay for a little while
vacancy, let me in
vacancy, let me in

autumn leaves fall, but i don't jump in the piles
doesn't cross my mind;  i'm thinkin' 'bout the miles
the miles between you and me
i'm the blade of grass at the bottom of your tree
your roots are buried deep, deep in my heart
as you reach into the clouds like a work of art
maybe i'd be jealous if you didn't look so good
but i'm just staring at the leaves thinking, "would've, should've, could"

is he smiling at the sunrise
the way i did with you?
are you looking at the sea
feeling his eyes on you?

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vanacy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin
my hands are cold without yours to hold
suddenly i'm colourblind without you in my world
i promise if you'd let me, by your side i'd grow old
just a look from you and i'm weak, i fold
vacancy, let me in
vacancy, let me in

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vacancy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin
This was a very quick song I wrote; I just splurged words onto the page. I'm probably going to put music to it.
B Kenneth Avery Nov 2012

Nectare bred of an artist's haught testament—
        brings only stunted buds of tastelessness.
Be it naught for the height in numerous tidal of Muse—
        to cause the strike of warmth in bruise.

Upon the cheeks shadow'd in might—
        strength of amour upon near-sight.
You!—Blossom, are of a frightful power—
        to journey nestled mind of dark tower.

As though a hawk perched higher than the peak—
        of mountainous and controlling streaks,
Colourblind by potent affair lost—
        by centuries of sicken'd fever crossed.

By and by another name, honeyed pursuit—
        yearning that cause a poet becoming mute.
Meagerly, he instead scribes his burning allegory—
        that shall cause a life—eternal fragmentary.

Dangers of Kimberleigh

“Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one you want.”
― Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"


When the morning demands you and I—
        our ghosts shall pass empty resides,
Against fields where lines opposing light, force and bind—
        of Angel's breath and Dæmon's spine.

Of shrieks louder than their first meeting's kiss—
        residing now—perfection upon midnight's bliss,
Abiding near the tender gardens upon the blinding dark—
        creating haste of love-song made by grave Skylark.

Who in joyous play—should cause collapse—
        towards serene, augmented lapse.
Lapse of falling, of where gentle screams—
        of every child that's ever been,

Who stroke themselves against empty glass—
        and where visions pray upon the grasp,
Of wind—Of blinding—Of melody—
        to hold faint—Immortality.


This shall be where morning seeks—
        no longer calming of beauty's cheek.
Instead to lash with vain and hostile mount—
        crimson over dashed and harsh doubt.

Until image engraved by forgiving rite—
        speaking neglect of fiend or fiendish blight.
In-versed—coole angelic heart to passéd—
        passage beside Lilac's memory in mortal castéd.

In the unwashed Earth, where the unwashed play—
        'till they unfairly capture it from younglings— Away.
Lonesomeness of watchtowers in gossamer's breast—
        when airy words strangled from bless.
Reachéd by the hand—abide in fable—
        quiet tho—in fruitation, a single silver Maple.
Shyly envisioned inside salvation's solitude—
        where tenderness drowns tenderéd concludes.


The sister was lovely—inside my sight—
        in our union—created Nature's first night.
Through our throats rendered fragile lullaby—
        which slaughtered silence and made soldiers cry.

Her bristles—exploit in darkness—I could not see—
        or merely recollect in memory.
A mouth moving inside of mine—
        creatures in mawkery of untouched divine.

Eyes whom beatéd harder than the breeze—
        to remind me—gently of the ease.
Of being caught in cognitive stance.
        which leaves surrender to in traditional, disciplined dance.

Upon the backs of universal forestry—
        and inside their stomachs to where we would meet.
Offended to death by requiem—
        made inside our faint dream's drum.


Where dreamer's would lash upon in endless screams—
        innumerable Rubies ruin'd before their first gleam.
Upon reflection in lover's loss—
        diminished to demise before their first gloss.

It is upon the fool's finest end—
        where lies his fantasy—condemned.
The jester who remains as undefeat—
        before death shall cause lackluster's retreat.

Unaware tho, in current mode—
        as body by body closely will hold.
And messages of Gold conspire in streaks—
        immersed—affection in mind eternally correlates oblique.

Ringing and humming throughout what laid—
        against blonde grass from Sin was made.
Refraction's cast that betrayed—to promise me—
        endless nights of haunting harmonies.


Held tightly in grieving bourne—
        broken—in new blood is sworn.
Across the snow-cover'd Evergreens—
        where the temptress grave is left unseen.

Not upon her kiss—did darkness fall—
        alone—in shining pieces did crawl,
Against creator—and thus creator hence—
        bitter loving shrouded by bare defense.

As her finite skin had laid eternal flesh—
        of what laid inside Pine's parting mesh.
Holding and crying out for uncertainty—
       feelings moaned into sudden Mercenaries.

Morose and fledgling in their stand—
        spiritéd to Death's light misunderstand,
Of peerless eyes and broken brooks by the sea—
        casting ruined cloth over our Evergreens.


Unfurnished dawn may scour for length of furnished night—
        quick—until mirroréd ebbed ocean does wrong.
To consume the idles of Man's afraid mind—
        fairest—lest His idles struck into divine.

Exclaiméd none tho, in archaic lust—
        deceased—firmest in high robust.
Where pleasure finds comforted pause—
        inside arched-back in neglected cause.

Betray the shallow grimace flee—
        and ethereal composed by the breeze.
Lies delicate delusion before sorrow—
        that shall thieve away the Artist's morrow.

And in thievery is where the Angels lie—
        angelic beasts with unlawful guise,
In courts—castrated by the throat—
        hardened in assumption by blackened elope.
Argument: A paramour in his youth reminisces upon the topic of attachment and devotion in his unrequited infatuation after having the harsh reality of yearning and his memories come across his frail mind due to waking up from a dream he thought of as being a nightmarish realm that resided in a deep sleep after an exhaustive and forlorn'd day. The poem appears in three phases: The false appearance of the admirer finally inside a catacomb of mutual love in bliss after a long-while of misery; the confusion and untouched heart slowly being composed inside a mixture of both love and loss; and finally, the innamorato becoming awake completely and being torn by the realization of the falsehood of his fantasies and wishing to be able to go back to his previous slumber and having the image return untouched and yet also having the horrific realization of having the aspiration of mutual love, seeing it, intellectually, as futile.
OliviaAutumn Sep 2014
Scientists estimate that you will fall in love seven times before you get married.
That 42% of these marriages will end in divorce.
That lesbians get their sexuality from their fathers inability to
Maintain a platonic relationship with a woman
Pram pushing into bedrooms whilst our mothers clean
With wine stained pinafores and nicotine laced lips.
They remove their motherhood camise
And hang it on the banister one day after school,
Her fatal attraction to the bottle and mine to the silk touch of a woman’s fabric being the perfect childhood cliché for a
chronic homosexual.

My mothers is still there like a scare crow to heterosexuality,
warning off all my seven deadly loves that could have come from man but now come from the caress of a woman’s cheek but still,
I am afraid of wearing my heart on my sleeve
In case I shrink it in the wash so I place it in my rib cage
Captive to the beat of my own heart grieving.

You are my second love and according to science
I am therefore chasing something that cannot be caught,
Something that has an expiry date before I can even co-create this thing called love  

So when I sip seduction from your navel,
When I unwrap you like the present at Christmas I never got,
Untying the ribbon as I undo your jeans,
Just know the only I do I will say is when you ask me if I think you look pretty.
Or if I want a brew when we are lying in bed puffing smoke rings
Around our impending sighs that float over us like rainclouds,
Drips of fate falling from these skies dampening my desire.

So forgive me if the only aisle I will see you up is the biscuit aisle, Pulling the fabric of my non-wedding dress around my slipping tights.
Forgive me if I trade in the sweat on your neck
For the salt side of a tequila
As sometimes I like to use the wool from over my eyes to knit me telescope so I can look at the stars between your thighs,
But what no one ever tells you is that when you wish upon a star,
That star has surely died.
Because I want to fall in and out of love 7 times.
Correction: I want to fall in and out of love with you 7 times.
I want to press you, not in a book, but against me.
Imprint the lines of your fingertips on my ******* like maps of Atlantis because I want to go places with you I never knew existed.
I want your nails engraved on my back like constellations of stars
So I can always find my way back to now. To then.
The present. The past. That very moment where Greenwich meantime got it wrong:
Those seconds were longer than any before,
And my life has been full of seconds.
Second child. Second best. Second chances. Second love.
The third the forth, the fifth the sixth but the 7th, the 7th time you tell me is no longer reserved for you.

You tell me the 7th time is for me to fall inexplicably, uncontrollably in love with myself.
So when I walk myself up a different kind of aisle I can do it with you by my side.
And I’ll stand there, lifting the veil from over my eyes and I will tell you, Darling, second love, science is colourblind.
It doesn’t see the colours of the rainbow like I do.

Because yes, I do.
spoken poetry
Blue Mar 2018
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
but according to what I learned in science about how light works...
That's not really true...
You see, when light hits something,
say a leaf, it looks green.
But in reality it's every colour but the one you see.

Roses are green
Violets are green
The amount of vivid colours in this garden made me throw up.

Roses are red,
violets are red,
I lit my garden on fire.

Roses are blue
Violets are red
What are colours again?

Roses are red,
violets are red,
someone killed my cat.

Roses are yellow,
Violets are purple,
I think I might be colourblind.

Roses are grey,
Violets are also grey,

Roses are dead.
Violets are dead.
I'm a horrible gardener...

My name is Dave,
Roses are Paul,
It hurt my head,
when I walked into that wall.
The poet's guide to weirdly dark roses are red poems.
All of these are 100% original... except for the last one... one of my friends wrote it.
Poetria Jan 2018
to traffic lights
but I know how they're
supposed to look

I walk along
a thinning kerb
frequently falling
stumbling along

nothing stops me
I stay on the edge
this line between safety
and imminent death
what punctuation? ;P
Caitlin Feb 2019
I'm told I don't see your true colors, I see you through rose coloured glasses.
I try to convince them that they don’t know the person I have grown to love.
The only person I’m fooling is myself.
poesuer Jan 2016
You never know what your last meeting will be

With you it was nice,

We talked about silly things and the struggles we share-

The things that made us bond in the first place

We talked about the world, our gods, our eyes, everything

We talked about the way we things look to us

The fact we seemed to be colourblind in a world of spectre

And we said our goodbyes

And that was that.

So long, old friend

Have a nice day
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
i find it scary that people
who claim sanity
and drink coffee puffy-eyed
at 5a.m.
are the relative answer to
make those, drinking whiskey
at 7 minutes to midnight,
as being insane...*

forthrightly to obscure and to make make words archaic
would never make sense in geometry...
or what's the archaic standard
diacritical model of: yeß, prime minißter!
when you don't apply orthodox diacritical syllable
incision you'll make nonsense adjustments:
for a trill (or rolling)
we range from "r" alveolar "trill"
    and ʙ / v in Cyrillic (acute w)
           into bilabial?
я-Alice... uvular?
                  voiceless epiglottal trill,
or n, or ...  or surd?
                     you really have to word it
or over-word it when a few punctuation
marks aren't ascribed to phonetic units
that letters are:
rather than phonetic equivalents of ethanol
as attaches of carbohydrates
to be later stressed in the discussion:
which never took place...
    i'm still baffled by the conesus that
someone drinking coffee at 5a.m. is considered
sane compared with someone drinking whiskey
at five-past midnight...
the former is sane because in his state he will
embrace the state and craft a future plan for
making change... and the latter will
have to inherit the estate of the asylum
and craft a future plan that says: you, will,
not, be, able, to, congest, this, world,
with, your, dreams; even, if, your, dreams,
are, equatable, with, demeaning, ambitions,
to overcome, the stereotypes,
                 for they speak the drooling R...
when others hark or trill it...
                            and they say: power
exacted from an "ambiguity" of what's necessarily
stressed when a word is cut apart into
syllables, which cannot be further exposed to be
under-the-scalpel of letters having "punctuation"
marks (diacritical marks)...
as some might say, i'm colourblind given
the medium i use that's dichromatic sentenced to
be polarised by that, which is in between...
council-flat tenants complaining to the builders that
their kitchens don't represent Kuwait hotels
in Newham... or how to address post-colonialism
in how to represent modernity and moderation
and a disfranchise of ethnicity being the original
model for exploitation...
             i remember a time in England when
it was a happy place to be... prior to 2004...
          talk in Poland? mongrels amid stern
nationalism that represses homegrown terrorism,
given the historicity of Pole and Turk...
        and someone in the Philippines is to
address the question of justifiable censorship?
the Englishman is overtly prudish,
or let us say: overtly too polite...
   the Englishman is towing politeness when
he's actually towing a rotting corpse of a titan
he once was...
there was no chance to teach people
diacritical syllable punctuation, hence that
pseudo-science of leveraging a simple diacritical
representation into a dynamic of a Rosetta stone...
what could ʢ ever represent other than
a voiced episteme gluttony without a drill to
concede a need to repeat summer follows spring?
yes, after 2004, my status of a minority was left
blemished by those who i account for as my
"brethren", but, who have dragged me down,
to worthily accept a quote from Isaiah,
to some obscure circumstance of having an ethnicity
to begin with, and so unlearn my use of English
into a hostile psychological stance that simply said:
globalisation, and war against all and none:
within a framework of none? myself.
now i'm jealous of a snoopy-eyed garcon
and i know he's not jealous of me...
but i am jealous of the idea that capitalism actually
implants in the garcon's hope the idea of
a "state" pension... there are no states within
globalisation... the other "Japanese" time-bomb
in western society is not old age... it's pensions:
pray to god you don't reach old age...
the productivity of an expendable billion of Chinese
means you are entrusted with a brief hiatus
from work, and an slight existential bewilderment:
before jumping into the yawning lava pit of Etna.
little red Sep 2014
Blood rushing like wild crazed dogs
to the surface of my skin.
Placing a crimson attitude onto my face,
and a trembling hurricane to my voice.

The oxygen runs thin from my atmosphere,
is this real, or is this outer space?
Canines of the blackest exposure make their way
from my head, down my spine, through my extremities, to my feet.

Crushing eyes from around push me outwards
until I can no longer see what I'm running from.
Screeching, mocking barks echo from within
as prey is made of my insides.

Beneath the supernovas of happiness past
alone I await for the chimes of twelve.
I feel the hounds push against my skin once more,
they have not been fed for a while now.

The time has arrived and yet my sanity still has not;
shadows surround me and make it hard to breathe.
Laughter of hyenas, cries of bloodhounds, howls of wolves,
all disturb what is left of me right to the core.

Colourblind, yet with an eyesight set on the brightest hue of fire,
mongrels of most devilish influence impatiently scratch and claw.
Opening their kennels they climb over each other in a frenzy
down the road of scarlet.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight? Well then, red sky in the morning
is a sign that the herding dogs from Hell shall give no warning.
Possible trigger warning
Kagami Sep 2015
Strange how things are twisted,
Made better or happier
Like a girl who thought her life
Was crumbling. Her
Mind a whirlpool of lies
Inside of a hurricane of torment and insanity.
Her sleepless nights are simply
Airplanes that cannot fly.
But they are beautiful.
Bright yellow birds with broken wings and
Arrows through their eyes
Fly from sight.

I can relate. The urge and incessant need to run,
The cage stands around me, pillars of a ballroom
with no space to dance. The invisible song echoing.
My mind is a place of blazing meteors
And barren deserts,
Only occupied by an occasional mirage
That screams, “I’ve found something!”
The sound burns my throat, the voice of someone else in my body.
And suddenly I was weightless,
Barely a cloud
Near the ground, obstructing the
Paths that my eyes wander down.
Demonstrated by demons
And the flames flavoured
Like chocolate and ghost peppers.
Burning blisters on the insides of
My teeth, spreading through my bones
As a parasite would slither
Down my throat.
The trees and water signifying my survival
grows. A paradise in the eyes of a starved kitten
Lacking its milk from a mother flattened on the side of the road.
But the possibility disappears
As I walk, run, fall, cuss, crawl closer to my destination,
Forever doomed to walk among the shadows and blackness
Of the sky. Colourblind. I wander and trip over cracks in the
Sidewalk as my mother's back cracks in half like a twig,
It’s not my fault! I am still lost!
Or maybe I have been found. A picture, solid and graphic
I am here. This wasteland could be my home, my fragmented reality.
The tunnels deep in the blackened sand are the
Corridors of a haunted house, ghosts
Of long lost stories whispering sweet nothings
In my disjointed ear. I do not want to listen.
“Welcome home.”
Wordsinalign Apr 2017
Souls collapsed in a darkness that blanketed the starless sky,
Giving up on humans that sold us life’s biggest lie.
Everyone loved exploring the sun when it was out,
but when darkness settled in, their minds grew in doubt;
No one wants to swim the waves, when jaws came out to play.
Everyone falls in love with rainbows,
we are all colourblind that’s the way love goes.
Love left her once but she’d imagine it over and over again,
contaminated her brood and they declared her insane.
She scribbled a few tattoos that symbolised the love she has tasted,
but they only spoke half the story of her love gone wasted.
Dead clouds painted on a wall at night,
she illuminated flaws in the daylight.
Her darkness was worth exploring,
her tear-tainted eyes daren’t ignoring.
They spoke of her in past tense,
she wrote blurred lines in all defence.
With dry cheeks in the summer sun,
she cried blood until there was none.
Little cotton puffs painted in silver outline,
she smudged colours onto clouds that died in a line.
How it played out in real life versus how it danced in her head,
her love would never return back from the dead.
Em MacKenzie Oct 2017
There's some lessons to learn, but I can only teach so much,
resentment will cause you to burn, so to anger please never clutch.
It will take up room in your brain, and make your eyes seem hollow,
it'll cause your heart to drain and soon your soul will follow.

Here is a tired line, a real used up remark,
but the stars can only shine when the sky is truly dark.
You can only feel good after you've felt so incredibly low,
you'd climb out if you could, your strength isn't just for show.

Do not seek out only wealth,
it will not buy you a life to live,
focus more so on your health,
and the cures Mother Nature can give.
Every object will become broken and will only create waste,
the real gifts are the ones spoken, with words that are truth based.

Always show love to your mother,
'cause you'll miss her badly when she's gone,
and look to a stranger like a brother,
and appreciate the dusk as if it were dawn.

There's some lessons to learn,
but there's just too many to say,
and some with mistakes you'll earn,
and some you'll realize another day.
Always find ways to expand your mind,
never stop seeking the truth,
and look at the world as if colourblind,
and please don't waste your precious youth.
I had an idea of lessons I'd like to leave my future kids but it got all messed up and this came out. This will probably become a series. Listen to Rod Stewarts "Ooh La La" and you'll get it.
Lemon Jun 2019
all of my negative thoughts,
encircling my mind,
making me seem,
almost colourblind.
Got Guanxi Sep 2015
Let me change the colours to your tune,
i’m blue but who knew - colourblind kind.
Your kindness hides the shades of gray,
no-one knows who you are in your film noir phase.

I don’t mind if your mind changes in a different way to cope with the day, who i am to say whats wrong when you follow the moon to the stars to find who you are.

but tell me the truth tomorrow,
our time is borrowed from a universal feeling that keeps chipping away until theres nothing else to say!

That **** Philosophy;

It’s taken away minds like mine before.

Yours is yours and that is fine, but i’m inclined to believe in the things I see in my dreams, defining my days meaning and the ghosts of the past, forgotten memories and moments we can never look past.

Take me back to the time we made love in the trust of foreign objects and the affectionate conquests,
I can’t test myself within the confinements of invisible lines.

Take a step back to look past the facts and believe in the fairy tale you told me so very well -
it only came true when you kissed me without the contract that came with it.

I maintain my integrity but theres nothing left of me but my reflections familiar.

Who am i? To hide my racing heart in sombre tones,
umbrellas shade my fleeting mind and bruised brain, time and time again and forevermore, I hope.

Can you cope with capital, pretty - that city steals your identity if you can’t breathe without resuscitation.

but the thought of the situation makes my heart beat; discreetly.

Skipping as we count down the days.
I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to be able to be myself
Now I am struggling to let you in
Now I feel like we´re both someone else

This year has been like a rollercoaster ride
So many lows, so many highs
I've tried to put our differences aside
Just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye

You used to laugh at my jokes
You used to come when I needed you the most
I didn't see the fire through the smoke
You didn't notice I was just a ghost

This time I can´t read your mind
It's been ten seconds, but it seems like an age
It's like painting the rainbow colourblind
How did you end up on a different page?

I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to know you loved me more than words
Now I'm struggling to feel a thing
Still missing us really hurts

26. Februar 2018
Wrote this just now. Hope you like it.
Crimsyy Oct 2016
We won't be friends for long,
I'm sorry but you've done me wrong.
You've dug a hole in my mind,
and I can see in black
but you've made me colourblind.
I've grown accustomed to
having you around,
I've grown accustomed to
your white noise.
But surrendering was never my choice,
I want nothing less than gold,
I never wanted my soul to be sold...
I've spent too many nights
crumbling, folding, imploding
I've spent too many days
wearing a mask that portrays
that my mind is okay...
I've spent too much time in your shade,
I want to see the sun again,
I'm afraid I'll lock you in the very cage
you made for me,
and this time *I'll be free.
Raiven Everett Jun 2018
Born not of such yet spoken
Upon terms 
A process of nine surgeries 
Just to lose

Colors not of absence but 
Of dimmer 
We are not black and white people
So pass that beyond your thoughts
As you stare at us in awe 
Asking "what bout this that and the other thing "
Tiresome same old song

I speak for me 
As i am who i am
Those questions frustrate me 
As i am compared to a dog
See me as one 
Not as a freak 
Believe me 
Im not blinded by the light of love
But dimmed by the sight of those who see me as freaks

— The End —