Cerulean

I

am

not a decisive

person.

Yesterday,

I leered at the darkening horizon

hesitant to call it

a day

when untold decisions

had yet to

crumble.

If you ask me the time,

I stutter over

the seconds

cautious to claim even

markings on

an evermore confident clock.

I

am

not a decisive person

because

I believe

certainty greets conformity.

Choices bound by conviction

over inquisitive

excursions in thought

foster a lackluster heart.

A path of uniformity always trails the

absolutely certain.

in understanding &

in experience.

Clinging to dubiety

our lives are an exercise in

exploration.

I

am

not a decisive person

because

I

believe in diversity.

in life &

in experience.

Ingenuity crawls in the periphery

making it known

to those who wander

& what’s wrong

with wanting things

a little bit

different?

Peculiar is a decorative shawl.

It is a colorful

badge of bravery

in uncertainty.

It’s the almighty hyphen.

It’s the pious undo.

It’s the writer’s semicolon;

unsure of when to

stop forging

ahead.

I was even born

with two eye

colors

to remind me

bliss is in the

in-between.

They are the same

green-brown eyes

as my father’s &

as my grandmother’s

we have been indecisive for ages.

The ocean has never been blue

period.

It's cerulean.

It's teal.

It's arctic stone

on some days &

simply navy

on others.

Blue dances in the margin,

begging for another shade

to glisten

in.

Patiently awaiting

an accidental step

in a novel

direction.

It’s a disguised blessing

to not know

what to

be,

say,

think.

& if blue does not have to make a decision,

then neither

do

I.