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Colour(lessness) Of Fall

Colour(lessness) Of Fall

1 min 352 1 min 352

My fall is not orange and crimson

It's just too many smothering shades of green

It's not tickling under my bare feet

Not stuck in my hair

But clinging to the underside of my nails

Filth I've already painted 3 coats over

My fall is ugly

Like your palette, after several attempts at that one school project, you never turned in


I'm hitting all kinds of notes

Just not in that usual good-sounding rote

My song is ugly

Like your late December skin


Metaphorical hands

Their silver shadows

Pink at the core

A dog... But wings?

Oh! A butterfly now


How you listen to conversations you're never a part of

But then I turn to speak to you

And it's suddenly white noise

You take my mouth

Just mute the volume

My words are ugly

Like scratches on your back made last week in that bathroom stall


Do they have a face?

What do you call them?

Does light get caught up in their eyes like fireflies in a mason jar?

Do your hands need maps traveling their body in the dark?

Are their heels just a tad bit rough so they hold their ground on top of your feet?

How do they sound, lips around your airy sweet nothings?

Are they ugly too, like cigarette butts in your ashtray I threw out just this morning?


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