Blue

Have you ever held someone till your tears ran dry,

while their tears decide to stay inside, and felt useless?

Called someone on their phone when their words won't form,

waiting in searing silence and realization unborn, and felt useless?

Held a hand in your own and still felt useless? Useless?

Now, the moon has been falling from your dark

making things moonless, and tuneless,

and your dreams turn ruthless and lucid,

and with stars in my hands, I just feel foolish.

Useless. Like a nuisance.

If Newton could recognize gravity,

why can't I catch the apple of my eye before she falls?

Why can't I put the stars from your skies back in your blues?

I tell you what colour of blue they are as often as I can.

They are periwinkle and October Sky and sea glass

and sapphire and blueberry and forget me not eyes.

I always call them happy blues. But sometimes they are not.

They are grey, and blue, and tombstone, and blue, and shadow,

and blue, and distant, and blue, and distant.

Distant. Distant memories

are separated in time but still fresh,

and you tell me you're a mess,

and that stupid fucking thing beating in my chest asks,

What can I do? How can I help? How can I love you best?

You're done with wearing masks.

Done with using grenades to test the unknown in front of you.

Using green spades to dig through your terrors and trauma,

using homemade lampshades to focus your light on others.

You are done with wearing masks

and snapping out the welcome mats at your front door.

Done with being the messenger, the decision maker,

the steadfast, the swollen, the broken, and bruised.

Done with feeling your screws turned loose

when the blisters left from your Philips

can't get rid of the callous pressed into you.

Righty tighty lefty loosey,

in the eye of this beholder is not the beauty,

it's the truth. But see, it's beautiful.

You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.

It's always beautiful with you. Beautiful has bad days.

Beautiful says, you can see me if you want to,

you don't have to do that.

Beautiful pushes me away, she tells me to leave,

but then holds me when I crack. Beautiful is blue.

Tombstone, and sapphire,

October Sky and shadow,

and forget me not blue.

Beautiful. Useless has bad days too.

But with you, the bad is truthful,

beauty is proof of how that thing beating in my chest

understands gravity in a way Newton could never comprehend.

Beautiful is blue.

Beautiful is you.