They were blue in spring 'til they met in the summer. Winter is bright pink.
By Ava Safaiabout a year ago in Poets
Ribbons, waves, planets, And dew — I think there’s some joy To be found in blue.
Forget-me-nots, tears, And things once borrowed — why does Blue need to be sad?
I wear glasses now. Looked at you more than the world. Life lived on blue screens.
you want to fit in, so I'm taken off the shelf. I want to fit you.
When I think of her, I sink — I fear the spring when she won’t help me float.