excuse me, doctor?

i think my internal prism is malfunctioning.

well, everything is sort of a monochrome gray. is this a common problem?

yes doctor, i know you didn’t study spectroscopy in college. i just think—

but surely you can just request a new one? i’m quite sure it’s covered by my insurance, i checked.

broken beyond repair? therapy?

but what if i start seeing in color and it just doesn’t feel like me anymore? fixed, but at what cost? i don’t know if i can afford that, doctor.

well, no, but i’m getting rather used to the shadows and i don’t mind them, really. it’s just on bad days that—

i wouldn’t say that every day is a bad day, exactly. they just all sort of blur together and i don’t remember the last time i really cared about something.

no, i don’t wear glasses. my eyesight is fine, i just can’t seem to see any hope right now.

contacts? no, doctor, i don’t think that’s going to help.

doctor, i think you’re missing the point. i’ve just forgotten what color laughter is.

no memory issues, thank you for asking. i’m just so tired, doctor.

alright, i can call you back. i don’t know why i really expected you to help, anyway…

after all, doctor, you can still see joy. 

Here is one of my favorite funny ones I've made:

Roses are red

Gluttony is a sin

My paitence for you 

Is wearing very thin 

Spring Afternoon

My spring afternoon

Was spent writing

Not a story, but a song

Yes, a song, written

With piano notes, a

Small melody but only

Twelve measures long

An amateur’s attempt

At creating masterpiece

Yet I cannot stop

The feeling of satisfaction

That I have created

Music of my own

the open windows

I hear

the turquoise ocean waves

hitting the sun baked rocks

and

the muffled voices,

happy voices 

I breath

the salty air

no longer 

stinging my lungs

I see

the lush green of

the lemon trees

and

the murky green of

the olive trees

that cover the mountains

like a hand knit blanket

I smell

blood red pomegranates

and

deep purple and green figs

and

The translucent yellow of olive oil

wafting through from

the bright farmers market

full of colorful hand picked, local

ripe fruit

and

fresh vegetables

And I wake up

into a grey,

grey

world

Where I rush,

rush,

rush,

to get where?

And where I

frown,

no sleep

come home to find that

anger, hovering,

my mind is

heavy

too

much

thoughts

too

little

time

the sun

hiding behind

the clouds

too hot

too cold

I finish

but more,

more and more

stacked up.

sadness spreads like

fire

burning inside me

I race but it

gets farther and farther

away. 

you don't notice it? 

the hay pricking your ankles,

the blazing sun suspended in your eyes,

the cloying scent of cheap ice cream,

the broken clocks? 

the soft bed of hay,  

the cloudless days,

the sweet smells and sticky fingers,

the ticking no longer ringing in my ears?

oh yes,

I notice it,

just not the way you do.

you don't feel weights sewn

into the hem of your skirt?

don't feel their gaze cementing

your shoes into the sidewalk?

don't lose your breath when

they whisper in your ear?

they stitch smiles in my seams,

pour pride from their eyes,

fill my lungs with warm whispers.

you're not suffocating here?

suffocating? 

I can't breathe anywhere else.

For school I had to write a poem using the same trope, feet, and rhyme scheme as The Destruction of Sennecherib. I'm proud of it!

In the home of my childhood I knew of a tree,

I remember the branches I'd climb high and free.

In the summer the leaves are the brightest green hue,

And I'd love to go back and to share this with you.

In the autumn the tree is a fiery red,

And a crown of deep gold will then rest on its head.

In the wintertime snow and hail beat my dear tree,

But it always stands tall and continues its sleep. 

In the spring the old tree blossoms out in bright white,

And it's really the loveliest, prettiest sight.

As I sit on the train, looking out, I can see

That most beautiful, perfect and wonderful tree! 

The sunshine on my face

Slanting from the window

Makes me feel like I’ve

Touched a blurry memory

From the past, it felt like

Innocence, happiness,

Slipped away long ago

My fingers draw against

The glass of the window

Wishing I could feel

It again, even if it is

Only a wisp of nostalgia

If only to feel young,

Even if it was only my

Imagination…if I still

Have that, and the sun

Is setting below the

Horizon, turning the sky

Pink and orange, and

I long to enjoy sunsets

Again, like the characters

From my old books, how

Long have they been just

Sitting dusty on the shelf?

But all I can think of is

How the night will come

Soon, and another day has

Ended without me doing

Anything meaningful, nor

Feeling anything meaningful

Again…as the sun dips

Below, the moon drifts up,

The stars appear, and I

Turn away, tears glistening

At the corner of my eyes,

A faint, sorrowful smile just

Lingering

the cage

some people are

Born with it

some aren’t

some people

Obtain it 

the cage has

No lock only

steel

Bars

some people

Paint it black or white or

Fake happy-pink

some people

Don’t, showing the cage

in hope

Someone will give them the key

even though

There’s no lock

you can hang

Fairy lights

make it cheery to

Lure people in

making it a mask of Happy

And passing on the cage

to get

Out

--------------------------------------------------------

I am so SO proud of this 

heh enjoy my brain~

i can’t

breathe

and i’m shaking with every inhale but not enough to be noticed

and each gasp breaks from my chest like an overzealous third grader told to ‘tear along the dotted line’ but my lungs aren’t perforated

so i’m

uncontrollably

asphyxiating and

i can’t

stop

because i can’t focus on anything else and i must’ve left my self control in another dimension but we haven’t discovered parallel universe travel yet

and i’m

wondering

if you can hear me can anybody hear me someone please

please know i’m shuddering and alone on this crowded train and my mental mask is slipping but you

you don’t need to stay six feet away even if that’s what i tell you when you ask

because can’t you see i’m not brave enough to tell the truth like i’m not brave enough to be ok or to even breathe

and i’m

so scared

and it’s all

my fault

and if i send you this poem or ramble or whatever mess this is turning into can it be enough

because i think if you asked me ‘how can i help’ or ‘are you ok’ one more time i’d still lie if only because

i can’t

breathe