I forgot how I wanted to start this.
I love the color blue.
The first time it captured me was the time
I looked into my best friends eyes.
They were this sapphire blue with orange around the pupil.
Still to this day, I've never seen blue eyes prettier than his.
The second time was when I lived in AZ.
I was outside, and this blue Mustang drove past me.
I swear it was in slow motion.
It was this amazing, perplexing, awesome, deep blue.
The third time was when it was on you.
In the form of a hoodie.
It's my favorite hoodie of yours.
I'll never hug you while you wear it so that I'll never get any makeup on it.
That's a great blue.
My favorite blue.
Did I love blue too much?
So much so that I became blue.
I thought too much about us and what we couldn't be and what he wouldn't feel, that I made myself blue.
My favorite color blue is the one that's on him.
He doesn't like the blue that's on me.
The one that overthinks and distances myself.
He doesn't like it when I put the blame on me.
But it's my mind posioning us.
It's my mind declaring war on my value.
It's my sadness that's lingering.
And then I'm okay.
And the other bipolar symptoms take over.
Then...
YOU ARE READING
Finding Joy
PoetryI never spent time seeking joy. I only spent time making a bed comfortable enough in sadness to bare it. Now, I'll see and work at finding joy. This is a continuation of "We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human".
