Bleeding Colors

Black. As in death, the end, and goodbyes

as in rebirth, I'm beginning to rise

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the ashes are grey like a cloudy cold day

creating something anew from soft heavy clay

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painting it orange, because that makes me smile

like sunsets and tangerines and running for miles

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and my face turns bright red, like I'm feeling ashamed

like a rose that still blooms even without a name

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and when you call me, your voice sounds like a soft blue

like gentle waves in the ocean, my tears, and not knowing what's true

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feeling so lost in a deep purple maze

looking up for the stars, but only seeing the haze

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and there's speckles of green that remind me I'm growing

it may take some time, but I'm reaping and sewing

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a cozy warm sweater with little pink hearts

that make me feel like a child, back when my thoughts were like art

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and I'd paint a big yellow sun in the corner

and pick the dandelions without thinking to mourn her

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and the sky would be full of big fluffy clouds

white as these pages you're reading aloud,

white as the room I see in my dreams

as the snow, and old age, and dashes of cream

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and I sip on my coffee that's brown as the earth

as in beauty and hardships and not knowing her worth

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yet the seeds that she holds will sprout everything new

and I'll look back and remember what I never knew.