Magazine Clippings

Leave school to write poetry

Make friends with empty streets

The only perfume you wear comes from magazines

And try as you might, you can’t figure out what the graffiti means

Fill your veins with coffee

Until you feel real again

Let the cold sink into your skin

Until you can feel again

Bury yourself in books and poetry

Stare down at empty streets

Cover your walls in pages from magazines

And hope you can figure out what all of this means

Before you become just another teenage tragedy

Black

What does it mean when

your favorite color isn’t even

A color at all?

But merely –

A lack of everything or

The absence of nothing,

All at once,

Mixed together in a cloud of mystery and uncertainty.

 

My favorite color is the color of

darkness;

The color of your dilated pupils that swim through your ocean blue eyes,

The color of the inside of your mouth as it collides with mine –

The color of the space between our bodies as we lay in my room;

The color of sleeping next to you.

 

My favorite color is the color of

Space;

The infinite vacuum in which my entire existence is based –

The color of the lightyears which separate the stars

And of of selfish, destructive meteors;

The color of creation, destruction, and starting anew.

My favorite color is the color of

Silence;

So quiet that you’re overwhelmed with noise –

The color of the moments between thunder and lightning,

Where everything seems to stop –

The color of the space between every heartbeat or breath within my body.

My favorite color is a contradiction,

A romanticized paradox.

My favorite color is nothing and everything

All at once.