a puddle of thoughts

human in a malfunctioning body

[honeybroken]

I hold color within me

The most furious reds

And blues which know sorrow

Purples where they touch

And yellows where they don’t

And all around me, deep, deep greens

So full, the forest would be jealous

It spills through my veins

Bubbles at my skin

Begs at release which I cannot afford

A wholeness which I cannot display

I live in immaculate color

And I hold it all within me

I paint myself in grayscale for a world which will not love me

So that I may not be seen

Gray

Gray

Gray

I box my words into four walls of gray

I build four limbs of a figure in gray

I say, this is me

Hello, I am gray

I am a safe thing

I am a safe thing, but do not look at me too hard

You will see the red that boils when you take

Words meant for me and use them as your own

Redefine needs that I cannot have

Pieces of my identity, and make them your aesthetic

Your trend

Pale

Barely even gray

You will see the blue when I cannot carry any more of this facade

Of dragging myself to the halfway point, giving ear to the ignorance of my own body

As you shout at me mere steps from where you started

Insist that I must be something else

I may not even touch this color within me

I must become colorless

I cannot

I cannot

I cannot

Even as I hold it in, bury myself beneath so many layers of gray

I am starving

Bursting

I’m so full of red that I fear it’ll pour from my mouth

Break through my fists

Cover everything I touch

And so much blue, I may become the ocean

Vast and dark

That I’ll wash away when no one is looking

I am so very tired of repainting myself

Carefully

For what?

So that I might have the illusion of safety?

Regurgitating color

Swallowing it back from my tongue as my body boils

I am so very tired of gray

I hold color within me

Beautiful, beautiful color

Within a world of gray

E. Clair

[honeybroken]

I want to be something to you

A page in a book that your thumb turns over

The edge of a desk which your fingers graze

A hem that settles over the curves over your collarbones

Molds with every bend of your body

How I want that to be me

I want you to look at me and see safety

Grace my rigid bones with idle touch and

Count time in the chapters of knowing me

To long for me

The way you do the warmth of your jacket

Or the freckled sun on your window during fall

The rainstorm that hums you to sleep as candles burn out around you

I want to touch you gently and say

I’m here

Those are my lips at your nape

The kiss of my breath against your shirt

The scent of me in your clothes, stirring memories with the passing of the wind

I want to be woven into what soothes you

I want to be your rainstorm

I want to be something to you

E. Clair

[honeybroken]

I no longer enjoy the things I used to

Perhaps it is because I’m older

I’ve heard that can happen

Or perhaps I am just tired

I’ve been tired for so long

Perhaps I’ve grown out of them

Or myself

Or the things that shaped those things

I wonder if I’ll ever know

I wish there was a directory of me

An encyclopedia of the soul

This part makes you happy

This part is full of what once was

This part was broken by a man who loved you

This part is empty. Please fill it

I would take good care of myself if I knew how

But I no longer enjoy the things that I used to

E. Clair

[honeybroken]

I would like to be less of me

The hours of the day crawl by, and I am tired

The night curls around me in silence, and I cannot sleep

And when I do, I arise to another morning in which I’m not awake

I would like to be less of me

My head is an airport of thoughts

Impersonal, frantic, busy

Some journeying, others stood at the terminal

Waiting, wandering

Stuck

No destination

Woven into a mass of verbal chaos

I would help them if I knew how

I would like to be less of me, not to be more of someone else

But simply so that I might exist without this constant weight

This desire to fold within myself and become something small

Unseen

Pulsing in the corner of others lives

And still within my own

I would like to be less of me, and more to someone else

To be digestible

Palpable

Molded into small pieces of joy that sparkle in the sun

I would like to catch an eye that looks on with wonder

Endearment

Passing curiosity, even

Instead of worry, silence, reservation

That unnamed emotion that drives comfort away

I would like to be less of me

Perhaps, in time, I will feel differently

Perhaps, in time, I will be digestible

But as I crawl between sheets that fall impersonally around me

And drown within another night of passive existence

I am so very heavy

And I am much too tired to find appreciation for the weight of self I’m carrying

I would like to be less

E. Clair