She is full of sparks,
everything she touches ignites.
These are not feelings,
all these beings.
Asked to see the best,
yet criticized for lack of rest.
How could she sleep?
These beautiful stars,
heartfelt songs,
everything coloring her skin.
Drifting saturated.
The blank canvases are overwhelmed by her color,
she drifts further.
Why can't you see the world like I do?
When did beige become so fulfilling?
I want to hold hands,
let our colors collide,
I don't want to hide.
Those few thought-provoking seconds are never enough.
I have books on my brain.
My heart hurts,
she hurts often.
Such a wonderful world and she is wrong for loving it?
They want plastic flowers,
instead of these live roses.
Copyright 2018 THMelton
