Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you’d gone
and let the world spin madly on
When my absence doesn’t alter your life, then my presence has no meaning in it.
She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you’re swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water’s deeper than you think and there’s nothing there.
i’m not a real person just a color you see in the sky at 5AM after a night of speaking to ghosts and flirting with demons, where do you live? angels ask and i laugh and tell them i haven’t for years.
let me sleep in ur stupid t-shirts and hold ur dumb hand u piece of shit
i can feel myself getting angrier everyday i’m either becoming an adult or the incredible hulk
Do you remember the way the girls
would call out “love you!”
conveniently leaving out the “I”
as if they didn’t want to commit
to their own declarations.
And I agree that the “I” is a pretty heavy concept.
I want you everywhere, by my side and between my thighs.
I want your flowers in my hair and your name under my nails.
I want you with me, your sugar in my tea, my eyelashes on your sheets.
Write your name on me, when my heart breaks, I want it to be blinding.
They say no land remains to be discovered, no continent is left unexplored. But the whole world is out there, waiting, just waiting for me. I want to do things―I want to walk the rain-soaked streets of London, and drink mint tea in Casablanca. I want to wander the wastelands of the Gobi desert and see a yak. I think my life’s ambition is to see a yak. I want to bargain for trinkets in an Arab market in some distant, dusty land. There’s so much. But, most of all, I want to do things that will mean something.
You moved from Boston to Paris into a little apartment on the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. I showed you our neighborhood, my bars, my school. I introduced you to my friends, my parents. I listened to your texts, your singing, your hopes, your desires, your music. You listened to mine. My Italian, my German, a bit of Russian. I gave you a walkman. You gave me a pillow. And one day, you kissed me. Time went by, time flew and everything seemed so easy, so simple, so free, so new, so unique. We went to the movies, we went dancing, we went shopping, we laughed, you cried, we swam, we smoked, we shaved, you screamed; sometimes for no reason, or for a reason. Yes, sometimes for a reason. I brought you to the academy, I studied for my exams, I listened to your singing, to your hopes, your desires, your music. You listened to mine. We were close, so close, ever so close. We went to the movies, we swam, we laughed. You screamed, sometimes for a reason and sometimes without. Time went by, time flew. I brought you to the academy, I studied for my exams. You listened to my Italian, German, Russian, French. I studied for my exams. You screamed, sometimes for a reason. Time went by for no reason. You screamed for no reason. I studied for my exams, my exams, my exams. Time went by, you screamed, you screamed, you screamed. I went to the movies.
There is poetry written along your cheekbones and songs being sung through your veins. If you open your eyes, you can see that there is a sunrise-promise rising along our horizon, the whispering of something dangerously beautiful.
Think of how many people have sat next to you on a bus, train, whatever. Now think how many people have sat next to you on purpose with their fingers crossed in hope that you’ll talk to them. I’m sure somebody has. There’s plenty of times when somebody’s seen you and hoped that you spoke to them, but you never did because you don’t have the guts and neither do they. Don’t go around thinking nobody likes you and that you’re not loved. There’s been plenty of times when a stranger has spotted you and thought “Oh, they’re just my type” but haven’t had the courage or confidence to open their mouth and initiate a conversation. The funny thing is, neither have you.
My second grade teacher liked to ask us,
“How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?”
Ten always meant I’m super, thank you
and one was always not today, Mrs. MacAuley, not today.
But I never liked numbers, they would always
twist and rebel against my mind so I chose
to speak in colors instead.
January third - I am the color
of mint chocolate chip ice cream
but I’ve eaten all the chocolate chips.
I am calm.
February seventh - I am a bruise of
blues and violets today. I think it would
be best if I sat by the window.
These are unhappy colors.
April eleventh - I am turquoise, I am magenta,
I am every color in the rainbow.
April thirtieth - I am gray, I am silent.
May first - I am orange, the color of melting
creamsicles on a beach in July.
June twelfth - I am as yellow as the school bus
that will bring me home to summer. I am free.
Twelve years later, I still use colors.
The winter makes me feel cobalt blue, the ocean
turns me a seafoam green. Violets and purples
leave me uneasy and scarlet is a fever of fury.
Some nights I drown in shades of navy, denim,
and cornflower but other nights I meditate in forests of
harlequin and shamrock.
you leave me a blinding white followed by a soft yellow:
the color of sunlight after a period of darkness.
Kelsey Danielle, “A Diary of Colors”