if i fill my house with color
if i fill my house with color
(bunches of flowers, dining table art)
and keep the brightness as close as i can,
push my sweaters onto my arms
until the pink and yellow threads
weave themselves alongside my veins —
.
if i keep the color beside me
(in sparkly eyelids, cherry cheeks
that look like i’ve been laughing)
so my shoulders surrender to gravity
and push away the urge to linger
long enough to feel the lightness —
.
if i shock my senses into believing
the world is bright and not despairing,
i might find spaces to feel stiller
and moments to be fuller, feeling
feelings from a little me, twirling
in mismatched purples,
not knowing paint will dry on my walls
over the castles i’d fall asleep under
or that not every blue goes together,
even when you’re told they will.
not knowing waking would one day
be aching, and blinking would bleach
out the color.
.
if i fill my house with color
i’ll find blues that go together
and castles to fall asleep under
when i blink and it all turns grey.
