i.
and the wind blows acorns
with broken halos
onto the ground,
littering speckled-concrete foundation
as they fall through cyclone crevasses;
i don’t think these fingers latched onto my chest
can hold you up for long
you might blow away-
hold on.
ii.
helicopter blades bulge like abscesses in the sky
scattering butterflies and weak feathered cries
i wish i could self-eject from this old record player
this eggshell stylus is tripping on vinyl and you.
i wish i could jump out one of these stained-glass mirrors
without a patched parachute
and fall-
but you hijacked my heart
and stuck wildflowers where it used to be
then dumped this honeycomb casing into the back-seat.
iii.
i can’t hear c minors or g majors
blaring out of the radio at two o’ seven am
as i try to pump a rhythm into a place
littered with leaves and ‘always and forever baby’
it is starting to rain
and my three-ringed notebook inhales all the soggy secrets
i only wish i could hear them too
instead of being drenched in a film of diluted bubble solution.
remember that time at the beach
when the waves were so blue and so tired of eating the shore
they turned anorexic for twelve point eight seconds to cry
and to raise up the sea.
the salt overflowed,
i sidestepped polluted foam and slapped seashells against driftwood
because i couldn’t hear you
over crying waves and a murderous beat.
iv.
if pain were liquid, i would drop myself into the ocean
rip out my lungs & plaster on gills
fold polka-dot pockets of air and stuff them all into a cavity in my chest
so that when i start to dissolve
i can capture all the tiny reflections of your fists in the salt
and bottle them up in marmalade-jars.
if i held a canister of concentrated you
up to the sun
my face would be in complete shadow.
no matter what you throw around my living room
i will not pick up your feet and force them to walk.
i have a hundred vases prepared
to replace each one you shatter
with that battery-powered muscle
lodged somewhere in you chest,
it is the remote in me that i can’t supplant.
v.
you made it to ninety-seven
& i still have more
petals than pieces lost
inside me.
Author notes
prompt:
-bring forth memory; colours can sometimes remind us of things or situations, let me know what those are for you
*my colour[s] of choice: orange & yellow [sunset(ish) colours 
]*
A contest entry
- Inspired By A Colour by Midnight-x-Rose.
300 points, ended September 5, 25 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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i can’t hear c minors or g majors
blaring out of the radio at two o’ seven am
as i try to pump a rhythm into a place
littered with leaves and ‘always and forever baby’
I'm not trying to be arrogant or anything
but your writing really reminds me of mine
but yours is always better :\
how do you do it?
lol this was beautiful, babe.
-
beautifully sweet, very lovely choice of words here & I love the metaphor of petals. Oh how I love flowers in a poetic tone!
-
This write is absolutely fantastic, and wholly deserves my rare applause. This presents such a wonderfully described range of emotion and imagery, although I will have to read it a couple more times before I fully understand it (which just means that this is amazing). My favorite lines would definitely be:
"it is starting to rain
and my three-ringed notebook inhales all the soggy secrets"
and
"no matter what you throw around my living room
i will not pick up your feet and force them to walk."
This is sheer brilliance. Maybe one day I'll be able to write like this. : )
- Solaris
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This is such an interesting piece and something I will go back to the beginning of and navigate through the rollercoaster of emotion. Great poem. Best to you
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