From “The shade of old spectacles”
The warm sea in which some people drown, the clear sky of the desert in which I got lost, the color of my backpack, of the weight of my story, the ink in my diary, the color of a 5-dollar bill you can use to buy things that kill.
Blood flowing from my scars, the wine of which I drink too much, of which some people always drink too much. The stains in my shower, the color of monochrome photographs I take, after a long night, blurred color of the fruit I ate. My mother had a cherry print dress.
The desert sand, my teeth that feel like they decay. Beer. Golden summer day. Spent crying in bed, alone in the dark. The gentle stroke of sunrise, sneak peeks of the life I should have…Yellow the wheat.
Your skin. Your hair. The mud. The bed of my mother, some feet under, where I stand. Brown the fields after they die, the cold winter. Your skin. Your eye, and so is the other. Naked bodies. Mixed together
The mountains. The beauty. Forests. Hope and dreams. Universal shade, shared by plants. Also the color of my shirt; stained by my sweat; sweat of anxiety and worry, sweat of walking it off, everything that hurt me. My path, footprints; trivial stories. Obstacles I walk over, my sweat from traveling across my mind. Healing healing.
Roses, flowers blooming, my gum is more a shade of pink, your tongue and your lips.
Green and blue twirl together, yellow and blue is green, pink is red just lighter!
Orange the sunrise…and sunset. Orange my morning juice, the medicine I was given as a child.
My mother’s rings, that rang like a bell on wine bottles.
My mother’s rings…Are the music of wine bottles.
That’s why I tap them with my nails, when it was my turn to chug them. Gold the letters on graves, gold the little prince’s hair, orange the fur of the fox. I remember the fox! Walking on water. Black; black the river. The swan, black is a color! Orange from the fire, fire can be red and yellow also, fire burns, fire feels warm.
Goes well with green and black and yellow, purple the paint on my walls. Purple is like watching the sky through a glass of wine. Purple is a filter, lenses that blur.
All the shades in between. Those of being neglected. Making you strong. But strong bones that can never be bent the same way. Lack of affection, you build up those walls, swearing they’re for protection. They crumble, crumble! Lack of trust and self preservation. Colors have an aftertaste, and it lingers, it lingers.
Now something that rhymes
I would have been fine
Hadn’t I chugged this bottle of wine
I shouldn’t have let the voices in my head draw a line
On my forearm telling me…
“This is where you slice away your worry
Cut it! cut it! And you’ll bleed and feel happy”.
I shouldn’t have hurt and told everyone to go
Kept for myself the thoughts that overflow
By kissing you goodbye
I wanted to make sure it wasn’t worth the try
That I didn’t deserve love and kindness
I wanted to validate my feeling of nothingness
To convince myself
That I could be happy with my life being a mess?
I shouldn’t have let them touch my skin
But maybe that’s because I didn’t want it to be skin
I wanted me to be dust and they would call my next of kin
And say your sibling finally gave in
I think they’re crazy they let people kiss their chin!
Even when their mind says no
Oh wait my voice says no, also
I didn’t let people do anything to me, I only responsible for what I tame, not for the people who try to shame me.
But that doesn’t matter,
I’m at the end of a journey, the starting point of another,
Standing on the shore.
Yes, I do remember,
There is more to come, more than one color.
Blue, blue the beautiful sky, blue the sea, the ocean, the lakes and rivers, blue my travels, my crossing, my path.
A landscape that makes me happy.
Oh dear life you haven’t seen the last of me.