My mom used to make soup with purple basil
At least, that what I imagined as she set it on the table
My colorblind eyes
Fed me lies
When she dropped in the leaves
I always believed
It's be okay
Because it was a purple basil day
Now she stirs in criticism
Feigns omnipotesm
She doesn't know
The roads I travel, the places I go
In my mind, I can see
Colors, red and gold and green
A lilac sea and chocolate sky
All make sense to a colorblind eye
I imagine blue
As calm and cool
Red is warm, like sunlight
Purple is sweet, a perfect night
While these colors may not be true
Who knows? You could be colorblind too
-Aidan
YOU ARE READING
Please, Disregard
PoesiaAn untold story from a misplaced generation, this is teen angst at its finest. These the writings of The Suicide Notebook, or how I'd imagine them to be. It's mostly going to be in poetry form, slam or rhyming. Keep in mind that slam poetry sounds a...
