"uncapped" poems - Hello Poetry

her favorite color is blue her hair is blonde. her lips are blue. so are her fingers. her nails are silver. her heart is cold. it’s winter here. below freezing at this point. blue. the snow is a blue-white, its untouchable. cold, to the point where it hurts she is blue. she is dead. blue blue blue blue. she was pale. like a ghost. maybe she was one. pale. blue. she was smiling at me. her lips were blue. dark blue. her silver fingers tapped along the desk. she had a blue pen. uncapped, poised to write. blue ink flowed out; the pen broke, ink spilling on her hands. she didn't mind. she told me she liked blue. she is dead. she didn’t clean it up. blue everywhere. i went over to help her she didn't know me. she smiled, her lips blue. dark blue. i smiled back. i handed her a towel; she cleaned. the teacher wasn’t looking. her hair was long, cascading. the ends of it, blue. her silver nails touch my hands in thanks. i went back to my seat. my friend looked at me. i looked back. he looked at the blue girl, towel still in her hands. he raised an eyebrow at me; i shake my head. blue girl stares at her pen, broken in half, the insides spilling out, slowly then all of it gone, wiped away like it wasn’t there in the first place. blue still on her mind. we kissed. it was after school. i was standing outside, and she came up to me. to say thank you. for helping her. she was pretty. her hair was pretty. she was pretty. she smiled, i smiled back, she stepped closer, her blue dress blowing in the wind. it was spring she was alive. and breathing. blue. i saw lots of blue. her lips were blue. dark blue, and touched mine. blue on pink, silver on clear. she pulled away first. smiled at me. walked away. blue lipstick on my lips still. i liked her. her blue lips and silver fingers. they were part of her. she was pretty. my friend slapped me on the back for getting a kiss from her. like it was a competition. but it wasn’t. he wouldn’t have been able to handle her anyways. she’s her own person, an enigma of her own. a didn’t understand her myself. she was beautiful. she was alive. i didn’t see her again until the weekend. she was covered in blue paint in the paint store. i needed to repaint my room. she offered to help. she’s in my house, in my room, we’re alone together. i wonder if she’ll kiss me again. she did kiss me. when i touched her silver fingers, she looked at me and kissed me again. i didn’t pull away. she pressed me against my wall, blue paint on my back, on her hands, in my hair. i looked at her, she looked at me. we kissed again. her hands on my shoulders, she was a pretty blue girl, in my room. she was warm. she liked my name. i liked hers. i liked her. a lot. it was summer. she was still alive, even prettier. her hair was still blonde, still silver. she got a tan. she knows me. i know her. i love her. she doesn’t know. i met her mom, she’s also blue. she met my family, she loves them. its fall, her tan is gone, back to blue, dark blue. she said she loves me i say i love her, it’s winter and she is dead. i visit her grave, buy her while flowers and paint them blue-dark-blue so she’ll like them. i tell her i love her, that I’ll see her soon. i buy pink and white flowers, paint the white blue. pink for me, blue for her. she is dead, but she is still alive. and blue.

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Apr 4, 2017

Apr 4, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC

thebestofus

blue girl pt. 2

her favorite color is blue her hair is blonde. her lips are blue. so are her fingers. her nails are silver. her heart is cold. it’s winter here. below freezing at this point. blue. the snow is a blue-white, its untouchable. cold, to the point where it hurts she is blue. she is dead. blue blue blue blue. she was pale. like a ghost. maybe she was one. pale. blue. she was smiling at me. her lips were blue. dark blue. her silver fingers tapped along the desk. she had a blue pen. uncapped, poised to write. blue ink flowed out; the pen broke, ink spilling on her hands. she didn't mind. she told me she liked blue. she is dead. she didn’t clean it up. blue everywhere. i went over to help her she didn't know me. she smiled, her lips blue. dark blue. i smiled back. i handed her a towel; she cleaned. the teacher wasn’t looking. her hair was long, cascading. the ends of it, blue. her silver nails touch my hands in thanks. i went back to my seat. my friend looked at me. i looked back. he looked at the blue girl, towel still in her hands. he raised an eyebrow at me; i shake my head. blue girl stares at her pen, broken in half, the insides spilling out, slowly then all of it gone, wiped away like it wasn’t there in the first place. blue still on her mind. we kissed. it was after school. i was standing outside, and she came up to me. to say thank you. for helping her. she was pretty. her hair was pretty. she was pretty. she smiled, i smiled back, she stepped closer, her blue dress blowing in the wind. it was spring she was alive. and breathing. blue. i saw lots of blue. her lips were blue. dark blue, and touched mine. blue on pink, silver on clear. she pulled away first. smiled at me. walked away. blue lipstick on my lips still. i liked her. her blue lips and silver fingers. they were part of her. she was pretty. my friend slapped me on the back for getting a kiss from her. like it was a competition. but it wasn’t. he wouldn’t have been able to handle her anyways. she’s her own person, an enigma of her own. a didn’t understand her myself. she was beautiful. she was alive. i didn’t see her again until the weekend. she was covered in blue paint in the paint store. i needed to repaint my room. she offered to help. she’s in my house, in my room, we’re alone together. i wonder if she’ll kiss me again. she did kiss me. when i touched her silver fingers, she looked at me and kissed me again. i didn’t pull away. she pressed me against my wall, blue paint on my back, on her hands, in my hair. i looked at her, she looked at me. we kissed again. her hands on my shoulders, she was a pretty blue girl, in my room. she was warm. she liked my name. i liked hers. i liked her. a lot. it was summer. she was still alive, even prettier. her hair was still blonde, still silver. she got a tan. she knows me. i know her. i love her. she doesn’t know. i met her mom, she’s also blue. she met my family, she loves them. its fall, her tan is gone, back to blue, dark blue. she said she loves me i say i love her, it’s winter and she is dead. i visit her grave, buy her while flowers and paint them blue-dark-blue so she’ll like them. i tell her i love her, that I’ll see her soon. i buy pink and white flowers, paint the white blue. pink for me, blue for her. she is dead, but she is still alive. and blue.