I always loved blue–
the blue sky
the blue ocean
my little blue pen.
I painted oceans on canvas
in various shades of blue.

But today, I am blue with
every bitter memory I have
of you.

I am not talented
And I refuse to believe that
I am
I realize this might be a shock, but
Talented,
Is a lie
I am not good enough
In 30 years, I will tell my children that
I have my priorities straight because
Perfect
Is more important than
Trying
I tell you this:
Once upon a time
I tried my best
But this will not be true in my era
Perfect is right
Experts tell me
Perfect is better than trying
I do not conclude that
Trying is more important
In the future,
I will be better than no one
No longer can it be said that
I have talent
It will be evident that
I will never be correct
It is foolish to presume that
I am talented
And all of this will come true unless we reverse it

I used to think blue eyes were pretty,
his were not.
his were not cornflower, sapphire, baby, indigo, azure,
or cloudy sky blue.
His were midnight where the light pollution from the city blocks the stars.
Iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death

did you know
i dreamed of you
almost every night?

dreamed of chasing you,
begging you,
an almost pathetic longing

for years and years
until i finally
fell out of love with you.

i still dream of you
once in awhile,

but it's not me
giving chase anymore,

it's you.

Happy families, smiling,
enjoying time together,
atmosphere filled with their laughter.

And then -

in a moment of madness,
all silenced.

Bullets took over,
dead bodies lying all around.

Terror strikes the land
we call "Paradise on Earth."

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.