Sad Poems

Signs of colors

I hold onto my sign in disguise. Cover up the shame and dirt of this demise, covering up my stainless heart. I can't recognize this situation, but haven't I been here before? I was holding the same sign, waiting for my time to shine.

Grab a coffee, force it down, and build some energy. Try not to make a sound. Move in the silence. I'll hold up my sign, wait, and watch for the people to pass by. They all have their signs and their own lives.

I will stand there for hours. Until desperation hits, then the sadness; here follow the runny tears. Then, the madness: Drinking and smoking. No matter how many bottles I drink, my problems will never shrink.

I'm stuck, doing the same thing over, day by day. I need luck, Faith, and good karma. The way you look at me, just like how I look at you, built interest in me. We look at each other's signs. You say I'm perfect, but my sign needs to be better. Proceed to walk away in disapproval; it got me choking on your residue. Maybe you were right that I wasn't suitable.

 You may be right that my sign is the only thing holding me back from success. The one I have left in my life that was processed. You may be right that desperation is written over the sign, covering up the actual words behind it. You make an effort to push away. I make an effort to try to stay, but reality keeps on moving me to my very own destiny. It seeps down that you were my soulmate for another me.

I wish I could not see the signs, but now I cannot continue. I see everyone's signs. The one who wears theirs with pride sees the one whose sign is beat. I know the one where theirs is being stuck to another, the one whose sign is not all the way together.

I hope my sign says something better. But instead, it says I can't love another. Being broken in the past, my mother couldn't hold herself together. Whose dad didn't know they were even a father? Whose siblings only spat out they "hate you." I tried to believe I didn't grow up with any issues, and I tried to believe in myself until I failed.

Now, my sign is being held with regret and sadness. Who would want to love someone so broken? Where did all the good characters go? Why did all the colors drain out from their makers?

This life failed, but who says I can't get another? Let me get out my pen and paper. I jabbed some new stuff with my colored pencils. I'll draw where this past me is to stop. And I'll draw the line where things will start switching up.

I will hold my new sign-up for everyone to take a look at. Nobody would be able to drain the color out of my pencils. Nobody will be able to draw on that or scribble.

I'm going to take my time to find another color. Just because a rainbow shows up when it thunders doesn't mean your black and white would go with my flow of colors. Bright and happy don't mix with the sad and ugly. It is time to learn your color pallet; red and blue would create purple, and black and white would make grey if you mix purple and grey. It'll just put a blot on that person's color.

I've already accepted my reality. My destiny tells me the time. I only took the best and made it shine. I didn't change for anybody just because you didn't like me.

I will raise my sign high for the colorblind, which will be why I will see you crawl out from the depths of the shadows where death hides. Get your colored pencils aboard, and let's start writing a new sign and experiment with your different hues and tones.