i was born with weak eyes
thick coke bottle glasses eyes
and people, places, things
these nouns are colorful blurs to me
drops of spreading ink
where no lines define anything
unlike others, there are no rules for what i see
the further the distance the more vague they become
as the red, blues, greens all consume the shapeless them,
like memories of love i only remember in colors
all else is washed out
the pink light and sunlit smiles
a blur of shades and hues of laughter
dark nights of secrets whispered
i think i must be enormous
to be swallowed in all this beautiful color
and never drown in what no prescription
will ever perfect
About the Creator
Alyssa Caswell
Sometimes, I write stories
Keep reading
More stories from Alyssa Caswell and writers in Poets and other communities.
Da Vinci Procrastinated Too
I write full time, which is a bold move on my part because, well, I am a high-functioning mess of a human and a procrastinator down to my core. As if the very bones of my body seemingly forget how to start work but know how to end up mindlessly scrolling down a stranger’s Instagram for hours.
By Alyssa Caswell5 years ago in Motivation
Smart phones, Humans and Aliens.
WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen7 days ago in Poets
The Path to Salvation
The late autumn evening air filled the monk's lungs, but it wasn't the season that chilled his bones. The heavy-handed presence of evil he had sensed upon entering the woods surrounding this mountain village had not bothered to conceal itself from him.
By Made in DNAa day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.