It was a sad day to see a man die without anyone really understanding him. “Great” is what they called him. And Great, he was. The fluidity of his thoughts turning into actions turning into memories and regrets and hope and despair was blinding. Everything happened so quickly. He happened so quickly. He happened. And then I was blind.

But I could still see his eyes as promiscuity and enticement clouded his blue irises and turned them gray. Gray like the fog. Misty fog, thick, choking him as he struggled to find his breath in the light that lingered at the other side of the ocean. 

But Great, he was.

Even as he chased a flower for five years. And flowers are everywhere, aren’t they? But he wasn’t searching for one. It wasn’t his intention to change his destiny (at least, not this way) but that little flower tiptoed in with her porcelain skin and Goldilock hair and velvet touch and then he was crying out over the love of her and then he was struggling to hold onto a petal as he was ripped away from her sweet scent. 

But Great, he was.

Great was the man still vulnerable in the midst of freedom and glitter. Great was the man still vulnerable in the presence of body guards and well paid men in tuxedos. Great was the man still vulnerable amidst a small flower.

As he fell into the water, the floating scarlet flowed freely from an exit wound along with an outpour of truths that no one would ever see or hear. And I screamed because I knew it. I knew it was the right thing for love.

my fingers squeezing stomach
and tracing those red lines,
delve into the white flesh
seeking solace like a vine.
and i’ll find my inner venus
as she flows out of my sea
and rejoices in the pure blood
of the virgin that is me.

i am pure in just the one way,
as my thoughts are dirt and grime,
like the people i believe i see
carry sins without a sigh.
but i sin just like all others;
i am not a special sky.
but i’ll go down thinking i’m the one
whose burden is to smile.

The thing about books is that the author can guide the character’s thoughts and feelings to how he/she wants them to be. I can’t make a boy notice the softness of my hair or cheeks, my poetic way of thinking, speaking, breathing, or the way my words can flow like a river or a stream and bubble and fall into each other. I can’t make him perceive me as emotional, deep, intelligent. He’ll see. Or he won’t see. And I just have to hope and pray that what he sees is beautiful or at least something I can work with.

pound pound pound pound pound
breathe sigh come pound breathe moan drown
pound pound pound pound pound

He blamed me
with those ice cold lips:
that blue,
he said, “They’re frozen for you.

Let me die; it’s what you do.
Let me try but fail for you.”

She blamed me,
knives in celery eyes:
that green,
she said, “I’m envious for you.

Let me die; it’s what you do.
Let me try but fail for you.”

They blame me
for letting scarlet stagger through:
that red,
they say, “These rubies drip for you.

Let them die; it’s what you do.
Let them try but fail for you.”

I blame me
as I drown in ash:
that black,
I said, “I’ve seen myself at night.

I will die; it’s what I do.
I won’t try: just fail all of you.”

Seeing blue again,
seeing green again,
seeing red again,
seeing black again.

He blamed me
with those ice cold lips:
that blue,
he said, “I froze them for you.

Let me die; it’s what you do.
Let me try but fail for you.”

She blamed me,
daggers in celery eyes:
that green,
she said, “I surrender them to you.

Let me die; it’s what you do.
Let me try but fail for you.”

They blame me.
They say I pushed that scarlet through:
that red,
they say, “it’s darkening for you.

Let them die; it’s what you do.
Let them try but fail for you.”

I blame me,
dark impending pain:
that black,
I said, “my emptiness seeps through.

I will die; it’s what I do.
I won’t try: just fail you.”

Seeing blue again,
seeing green again,
seeing red again,
seeing black again.

love, we’re all in love,
like that will change anything.
what are we doing waiting
by the seaside?
a crash and a smile;
like salt skin, salt eyes,
soft voice, soft smile,
waiting for love, like that will change anything.
what are we doing
dangling our feet
like we’re not on a cliff side?
a crash and a smile;
like wind blown split ends,
wind blown cotton,
waiting for love, like that will change anything.
what are we doing
walking to the deep end
like we’ll be able to breathe?
it’s softer silence, 
cross your heart and
make a promise, that love can change anything.