Hopeful
It was hopeful.
It's the colour of her hair and the laughter in her eyes. The rims of her glasses and the joy crackling in her soul. The beads on her camp bracelet, the sky at that one perfect moment, the way she could describe feeling happy.
It's a little too close to the bleakness she felt daily, the watered down light in the winter, and colour of her ex's favourite sweatshirt. The drink she drank when she didn't let herself eat. Little too close.
But it was bright, it was kind, it was unique. It was a good reminder.
It was hopeful.
The Colour of Loneliness
She was the colour of loneliness
painted a perfect portrait of emptiness.
she was blank
void of any sense of beauty,
of emotion.
she was cold
a snowy sheet of misery
comforted by death.
she was plain
a simple sheet of paper
just waiting for somone to make her into a book.
she wished she held more than herself
she wished she could be more than nothing
she wished she wasn't left in the pencil crayon box to never be used.
she was the colour of loneliness
the colour that could never be created out of two colours.
Stage Lights
Lie before
tremoring hues.
Stroll...
stroll gorging grained
sands.
Frolic...
frolic among
scolding trident
rays!
Spar...
spar along
crumbling steps-
and don’t
forget...
never forget
of the
blood spilled!
Scream and shout,
sing that Starling
ache!
Please...
please my
deception away.
Dreams spark...
Nightmares sparkle.
Now they’ve
won...
now they’ve
w-
Radiance
The glimmer of distant stars. The sparkle of new snow. The shine of a pearl pulled from the sand. A swan gliding silently through still water. Lily of the valley spread through a gentle meadow.
A winning smile, the flash of teeth for the camera. Wedding dresses and the beauty of the moon reflected in a porcelain fountain. A blank canvas, smooth and perfect. The elegance of diamond earrings and the scent of vanilla ice cream.
The sleek keys of a piano, and the hardness of bone. A flag of truce waving in the wind, the string of a kite soaring high. A spotlight in the darkness. An endless cloud billowing across the skies.
Describe A Color Without Saying It’s Name
They grabbed my hand and put it in water.
“This is blue,” they said, “it is cool and calm.”
They handed me grass, leaves, and made me smell mint.
“This is green, they told me, “it is life and energy.”
They put me next to a fire.
“This is red”, they stated, “it is warmth and light.”
Color
A rich hue, almost royal, glittering like a star.
Bright like a fire, bringing a sense of comfort in the warmth.
A small little sign, showing short alarm, a little splash of light in the dull world.
The pigment in the sky, melting onto our skin as we lay on the grass.
A color associated with joy. I share it as well.
The little lock of hair that follows the little girl as she runs down the street.
The tone on the edges of the old photographs of you and me.
A tint of memory, whether it’s good or bad.
Shit
Enigmatic and misunderstood. Underrepresented because only one thing comes to mind when the word is muttered. Everyone's least favorite color, so intertwined with digestion that it might as well be its name. Like the people that wear it, it is profiled harshly, described only as its name, never appreciated, never complimented for the beautiful variations. The old photos, the plethora of spices, the mighty trees, the cracked ground, the sizzling meats, rich breads, shades of different makeup, glistening polluted waters, speckled planets, dense rocks and faded book covers are all ignored. All cut down into two words: chocolate and poop.
