Blues and Yellows

Poetry

"You're thinking things way too hard but what you really should be doing is controlling them."

"...That makes no fucking sense though. Control what?"

~

The tall old wooden stool creaked as I unsteadily sat and shifted in it. "Neptune... Procure... Verdure..." I muttered to myself. Why do I always let myself procrastinate? A cartoonish yawn echoed across the quaint kitchen area. "Morning Wren... Still on about that poem?" Angel asked, rubbing his eyes as he stretched and scratched his back. "Constrained writing is a nightmare," I bellowed. I flailed my left hand for the hundredth time due to the pain of gripping my pen.

Only then did I touch my face to feel how crusty it was. "Take a break. I'll make you breakfast," Angel said. It'd been so long that I only realized it was the morning when the daylight hit my skin through the paneless windows. I took a deep breath of the slightly tainted rural air that swept in, the sight of old trees and barren grass outside giving me a morbid sense of comfort. A while it'd been since I last stayed the night at Angel's because of the domestic duties I had.

Echoes of my dad sighing because I didn't take out the trash today flourished in the back of my mind as I watched Angel kindly and comfortingly fry some eggs and old rice up together, with some MSG for good measure. I grew thankful for his existence, his burgundy tank top letting his lean yet strong silhouette stand out as I watched. "Hm," Matthew uttered from behind me. "Angel has also been working on a poem... of sorts," Matthew told me, his smirk widening.

-----

with every drink, with every hit
with every math equation killed
I watch your eyes, misty as night
the constellations can't ignite

you enchantress, I must confess
this fire you've struck can't help digress
burning garbage, the air's so dead
before my arrest with duress
I'd say, and humbly allay...

-----

The piece that Matthew gave me was in messy writing, the smudges severe as I saw that it was but one part of a complete work. It especially rang true as I felt the shredded edges of the paper when I held it. That's when Angel came running down from the kitchen as he told off his brother. "Don't take my stuff like that!" He took the paper as Matthew's laugh escaped his lungs, as did mine. "It reads so sweet though, who's it about?" I asked, expecting Athena's name to be said.

"I—uh—" Angel said, suddenly growing flustered. "I'm gonna finish cooking," Angel said suavely to save himself. "You should shower now, your... everything, looks sore," Matthew pointed out, taking the pen and paper out of my hands before I could protest. "Fine..." Matthew ruffled my soft hair with a smile before he handed me a towel and clothes for my quick shower. I felt... safe. Comfortable. Maybe even—happy. I finished my shower before five minutes could fly.

As I dried my hair, Angel called my name from the dining table. "Don't worry about that poetry thing. They didn't even ask you to write in tongues or whatever," he reassured as I sat beside him. Rolling my eyes, I just smiled, kept quiet, and ate my breakfast before setting off. Angel had prepared my bag already before handing it to me. He then wished me luck as I rushed down the wooden stairs of their rustic house so I could make it to school before I could arrive an hour late.

After running down the school halls and up the flights of stairs, these were the confident yet beautiful words that hit my ears when I first opened my classroom's door whilst heaving heavily: