Raised in the darkness, I hid from the day, Afraid of unwarranted prices I'd pay.
Simply for feeling the way that I feel. The line had been drawn between reason and real.
So when you are asked of the cause that I bled;
Let this be the reason my color was red.
While I wandered alone, malnourished by night, They offered me warmth and reprieve in the light.
Yet all their sun did was to burn any pride, For the fiery spirit I harbored inside.
For each time I did not speak for my brother;
These be the yellow stripes of my color.
Lost in the shadows, this Zelig of guilt, Still labors to tear down the walls we had built.
Separating ourselves from the love that's inside. When you are the seeker, where are you to hide?
For those who have passed and could not see it through;
Forever and ever my color is blue.
Neck-deep though I stand in a half-empty glass, Orange is my sunset and green is my grass. Cold runs the water, and the fire burns warm; Rainbows unseen by those in the storm.
About the Creator
Carbon Callin
CeStart
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A Recipe for Nostalgia
Preheat the evening to dusk, when the light turns everything soft enough to forgive. Start with one smell you can't explain—strawberry fields rushing past as she pressed against your back, her arms around you a sign that you make her feel safe. Set your heart to high heat—to that night the security guard found you, his knuckles on glass like shouts in a cathedral, interrupting a sacred moment of worship. Bake with her simple joy until the air remembers how she pulled you onto that dance floor, her hips already fluent in a language your feet were still stuttering. At exactly half-past back when, press play on the song that made her throw her head back laughing when you made up your own words. Let the first chord open the trapdoor under your ribs. Find the old hoodie she borrowed and hold it like a saint's garment (Over-handling may cause her perfume to fade). If it still fits, that's how you know nostalgia is lying; if it doesn't, that's how you know it's working. Add the longing in slowly—enough to swell every memory of her groaning at your puns, but not so much it leaks into regret. Mix in the three words she finally said for the first time ever. Scatter Polaroids on the counter, shuffle hands until every card shows her mid-laugh at something terrible you said. Fold-in the way her body twinged in anticipation when you’d gently touch it. Beat the urge to call her. Decorate with her last name—the one she planned to leave behind for you. Prepare for the ache in your temples; remember, this is a side effect, not a symptom. Garnish with the voicemail she left on your birthday, that you saved to listen to when you wanted to think of her. Serve in porcelain chipped by other lives. Nostalgia is best when shared, but may also be consumed shamelessly, in the blue glow of the fridge at 2 am. Store leftovers in your chest cavity. Reheat as necessary.
By SUEDE the poet6 days ago in Poets
The Salt in her Voice
The myth says mermaids sing to lure sailors to their death. But why? The ocean is huge. Only 5 percent has been discovered by man. Why would a creature of the sea with that much space to roam ever care about the fate of men on ships? The answer, as it turns out, is not a simple one at all. The truth about the myth is older than the tides. Long ago before the first ship ever cut across the surface, the sea made a pact with the sky. The sky would take the souls of the drowned. Anyone who died in storms or any quiet accidents of the deep would have their soul lifted upward to the Heavens while the bodies would remain below, feeding the oceans endless hunger. The greedy sea however wanted more souls than the sky would claim. So it created mermaids. It gave them beautiful voices woven from currents and moonlight. It commanded them to sing. "Bring forth the ones who float where they should sink." it instructed them. So they did. They never killed out of malice but out of obligation. They sung to summon, not to seduce. A mermaid's voice could loosen the tether between the body and soul, making any man step willingly into the water. The sea would take the body and the sky would take the soul. Balance maintained.
By Sara Wilson5 days ago in Fiction
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