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Color of BlueWe come, skin tinted the color of frost,
Color of cold, color of blue.
They shout, carrying words with the wind, preaching,
"People are equal," but people are lost.
Little lies, the size of snowflakes drift,
Landing on hopes, landing on dreams.
Our hearts, with winter's tears touching it, freeze,
Numbing it until the blood turns blue.
For some, the cold beats them down,
Chilling their warmth, chilling their light.
Their blood, turning into blue ice shatters,
Finally cracking under the pressure.
We're told, with wide expecting eyes,
Reach for better, reach for perfection.
Blue blood, polluting our minds with every expec
The Textures of our SkinCanyons on your young skin
feel like bark against my fingers
sharper spears couldn't hurt
the way those scars severed us so
Your frozen face searches
For some sort of warmtha small smile
But bullets break more trust
People persist to claim
The tantrums will not go away
Shattered glass and dishes
Results of a too loud tv
You said I had soft skin
When you screamed swears all at the air
About made-up monsters
You are rough sandpaper
Filing away my love and hope
That you will be the man
That used to calm my temper down
What that gun did to you
Did more than ma
AdolescenseI think there's a thousand songs the wind tells me.
The wind still whistles in my ear whenever I push up against it, as if reminding me how childish I really am. When I yell questions to no one in particular, except maybe God and anyone far away from my heart to truly listen, the wind sends back a copy of myself so I understand what they hear. They hear a child, wailing, lost, still pondering life as if she had just been alive for seconds. At the same time, I'm older than most children, and my voice grows more like my parents each day. "Adolescence," everyone tells me, but what I'm feeling now is more than just one mere word long.