This is a poem inspired by a fun fact I saw- True ultramarine blue paint used to be as valuable as gold! I really stink at ending poems, do you have any suggestions/tips? I'd like to hear any title suggestions or critique if you have any.   

untitled

you're trapped in a rembrandt, oh 

it's hard to see your freckles in the low light

this love is true ultramarine

at least, in mind's eye

i asked for violet but

all i got was blue, slate chalk dust,

the muted response

to something my

pennies and nickels can't buy. oh

splatter the paint, pollock,

i want to see the underlying yellow in your eyes

it's hard when the cool-white

flourescent flickers on off on off

on off

leave the shadows behind, oh

don't worry about worth

and become big bold graffiti on

a broken-down boxcar.

let go of the sepia photgraphs, love,

and join me in technicolor. 

This one is a sort of prequel to TAoSS (the novel that I'm posting on Inkwell) and is mostly focused on Ben. I'll be posting it in multiple parts since it's really long. If you don't read TAoSS, the poem can be read as a standalone, don't worry.

———

Okay Okay Okay

i.

Ben's spent his whole life being told to reach for the stars

because the stars are where your dreams are

and if you make it up there

you’ll be happy.

He’s stood on tiptoe,

made himself as tall as he possibly can,

and snatched at them, but

he’s scared to fall

so he doesn’t climb.

His six-year-old self

draws chalk stars on the sidewalk, but

it isn’t the same, because

when his face smashes into these

it only tastes of blood

and acidity

and pavement

and something else, something like heartbreak.

Nobody comes by to help him up, so

he does it himself, stands on shaky legs

and wipes his tears with the edge of his sleeve

and ignores the sharp tang of blood

spilling over his tongue

from the inside of his left cheek.

He’s okay.

Okay okay okay.

He tells himself that.

It means something

but he doesn’t know what it is anymore.

Okay okay okay.

I haven't written poetry in so long, I feel like it anyways. This is going to be come up with on this comment so it will not have been revised or edited.

~~~ 

Piano

I sit down

and place my fingers

on your soft

ivory keys

I press gently

then harder

the music growing

taking on a life

of its own

as it crescendos

the notes ringing

through the still air

I move my hands

one over the other

absorbed in the clear

ringing sound

of hammers striking

I finish

and rise

the crowd cheers and applaudes

but I simply walk offstage

the memory of music

fresh in my brain

~~~