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My Golden Blues

Poetry

All my sadness is now significant. A collection of original prose and poetry collected over time.

#femalewriter #poem #poetry #poetrycollection #prose #puddingemperor #sadness #sadpoems #selfawareness #selfdiscovery #selflove

amphibian

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by PuddingEmperor

by PuddingEmperor

If I were an animal, I'd be an amphibian

If a color, I'd be gray

If I was a body of water, I am an estuary

If a flower, I'd be a colored leaf

In between. Ambiguous

Not black nor white, always a mix of both

In between yes or no, I'd be a maybe

Maybe she's happy, maybe she's sad, the mix of both inside my head reflected on my face renders everyone confused, including myself.

I love confusing people. It makes me feel unread, mysterious, and maybe not understood enough to be tagged as something negative. But then again, not being tagged anything is something negative.

I love and hate my state. I love and hate myself. For everything is a lot, and everything is nothing. I'm living but on my way to death. Everything is a spectrum and at the same time a yes or no. Yes, I am alive, but in the spectrum of life, close to death, and in the process of dying, see?

The line which you cross results in a yes. Yes, I am happy, but surprisingly, I'm on the spectrum of sad. The maximum part where I'm almost outside the spectrum, but couldn't quite escape. That's just how it is. Always ahold of my emotions, or else I lose myself. Do I regret being on this side? Not even a bit.

The amphibian always chooses to go where it can gain something. An imposter who learns to grow gills, or learn to walk in order to belong. She didn't want to belong, and she doesn't choose a side. She goes back and forth between both options in case it is chased in one.

The colored leaf was an ornamental plant. Never plucked, for the reason it was not pretty enough. Yet appreciated a little since it was weird--to be a colored leaf.

The color gray was a maybe someone chose to be safe. To keep the blame off himself and keep the harmony. A goody toe shoes who's scared of conflict.

The estuary was neither the river nor the sea. It lay down the shore, all muddy and mush, but was ignored. Only the idea of an estuary was romantic.

I always like and dislike things, and my flavor remains confusing. Like when you have a little bit of every color of paint that it's now an ambiguous shade.