galaxies, love, and other magical things (a recueil de poésie)

//violet//

it's the color of her fingernails as your hands intertwine.
it's the color of her dress that keeps flouncing around her thighs.
it's the color of her soul as she smiles at the waitress,
and it's the color that you see when you see her.

it's the color that you feel when you kiss her at two twenty-seven a.m.,
and it's the color that wish for again in the morning at eleven.
it's the curtains that she hung in the windows of her flat
and it's the color of her nikes because she thinks she's fat.

it's the color of her screams and your tears that you shed with her;
it's the color of your fights when she thinks she's getting bigger.
it's the color of the circles that she tries to hide,
and it's the color of her soul, still, as it begins to die.

it's the color fading away from her smile and her eyes;
it's that dress she throws away because she thinks it makes her look fat.
it's the nail polish that stands out against her grayish, pale skin,
and it's the color that you wish that she could have again.

six months later;
it's the color of the dress you saved that she tried to throw away,
and the polish on her nails that you had painted just as she would want,
and the color of your tie as you tighten it before walking into the sanctuary
full of the people who loved her.
full of the people who loved her,
except for what's left of her.
up until the end, you wished that she would see how much others loved her
so that she could maybe learn to love herself.

3.6.15