watercolor thoughts [completed]

xxv | l e t t e r

inspired by Shakespeare's Twelfth Night

Letter 

dear pretty boy, 

I would write a love poem for you

but my heart is stuffed with 

cliches and sweet nothings

that are better left as is. 

so I'll remain dressed in a

masked melancholy, in a 

familiar drape of musings and blues, 

a monochrome of grays and dulls, 

sitting like Patience on a pure

marble monument, 

smiling at grief. 

I will keep it all inside,

bottle it up, pour the words I'm 

too scared to say into these thin flimsy 

pages, written by paper-thin skin (and bones)

I could be Shakespeare,

bemoaning my broken heart, 

but repetitive pain has become, 

an ageless story, always rewinding

(and my brain sets every memory on reset)

and Shakespeare is but a realist

so instead of infecting you

of yellows and golds with my underlaying blues

I'll hide behind a mask of deceivingly 

happiness, dreading and 

counting down the days until you've become 

nothing but a whisper of my past. 

I sit like Patience accepting my fate, 

for do not struggle against something

you cannot change.

dear pretty boy, 

I would hold on to every piece of you 

like CDs and polaroid cameras

but my memory's bad 

and some things are meant to be lost.

letting go of you is like pulling

a plant out of its roots

and look --

I've written my poem 

of sweet nothings to you.