The Blue Behind My Eyes

Blue was the fear of youth, the tremor in my heart, the thunder in my thoughts,

It was the threat behind my greying pupils, windows I sealed with wax.

My sex was blue, or so it was deemed, how lucky I was, they said.

Yet to love blueness made a pink of me, a queerness to the quo.

'Was I pink? Was I blue?' The others would ask.

'Did I yearn for one, for both, for neither?'

Was I blue enough? I'd ask myself.

Some would say I never would be, yet bluer still did I become.

The blue appeared on my skin, a black and blue gift from the 'others' of yesteryear.

The inky blotches freckled my thoughts and broke the dam that held them.

My voice drowned in the drink, my vision lost to the night.

Oh, onward did the midnight reach, not a star, no glimmer, no soul with whom to gaze into infinity.

Yet this was but a prison of mirage and mockery, oft the heavenly azure of day would tease the dark horizon,

But no pleas for sun, nor joke or caress could lift the fold.

Resolve awash, the sea made to take me with its crashing, waves like walls against my palms,

But my fists hit the walls and brick by brine the crevasse was found and the sky was ripped from sea.

From the waxy shadows, my soul cascaded blue, the flowers of my eyes stained eternally,

A dawn-blue sky I'd forgotten embraced me as a friend, the gold of morning against my cheek.

Only I was left when the flood had ebbed and flowed away, a smile on my once blue-bowed lips.

For blue was I still, but I'd grown to love the blue behind my eyes.