This chapter is more colorful, as I captured both the hopelessness I was feeling and more lighthearted topics, hence the title.
TW: non specific mention of darker themes
Elliotcore
I wear colorful beaded bracelets reading different phrases, moss, rain, and lilac, I pair them with vans, dress pants, sweaters, and polo t-shirts.
I make a to-do list, I brush my teeth, I shower.
I doodle in my art journal, I make a list of soon to be forgotten fashion designs, and I highlight my favorite words in the dictionary.
I think I will get better, I will take one hundred strides to find a home within myself.
I have hope that there is more than this, it amounts to more than aching, always.
I capture my little poetry ideas, maybe I'll do dictionary poetry again, I write lengthy diary entries and messy poems.
I pray when I wake up, I pray when the sun has set, I close my eyes gently and relive the many voices of the serenity prayer.
I talk about anything, I try to ask questions, I speak without molding myself into someone else.
I drink too much coffee, I flap my hands with excitement, I ramble on about death cab for cutie.
For just a moment I feel as if I have returned home to myself.
Rain
My clothes cling to my skin, I don't know where I am because the darkness bears a heavy weight, I feel every drop of rain hit my cold skin.
I look for something illuminated that I can perceive honestly, maybe that doesn't have a home here.
Mud cakes my shoes and dampens the bottom of my pants leaving me a bit colder and a bit more hollow than before.
I don't know of a way to return home from here.
I slowly bend my knees and soak into the mud, I loudly tell the rain I will no longer be fighting it, the sound of raindrops becomes louder, I get colder, I didn't think that was possible, I crawl into myself.
I watch as my body tucks its head into my knees. It's an odd sort of peace, tangible to the hands but hollow.
The length of my motel stay in the mud is entirely unknown to me, I could not tell the difference between sleep and wake.
In a moment of strange desperation I would open my eyes to something I did not believe existed.
It's still pouring rain, it's still cold, but I can see and almost feel the sun. I see a faint rainbow when I tilt my head the right way.
Even in my mud cake clothes and bruised knees I believe I will find my way back home.
The poets
I love his wheezing laugh and loud voice. I love his stacks of diaries and memory boxes, I admire the way he is always growing towards the sun.
I love his soft spoken nature and innate kindness, I love his stuffed bears and rambles.
I love his honest nature, always telling you what he knows and admitting what he doesn't.
I love their rainbow jewelry and rainbow freckles, I love their pride in being odd.
I love his soft masculinity, I love the way he rewrites the definition of manhood, I love his quiet courage.
I love his aloof nature, a lot lives within him that he keeps hidden within his heart yet to be spoken of.
I love the way he holds your pain for you.
I love her caretaking nature, her laid back approach and sundresses.
I love his green wings, ethereal nature, and daisy poems.
I love the way his kind voice holds you when no one else can.
I love his late night poetry, walks to the graveyard, and smeared black eye makeup.
I love his little ways of reassuring you and his sunny smile.
I love their dedication to finding their way, their colorful outfits, and their lengthy to do list.
I love that he had the courage to remain soft, despite, despite, despite.
I love his sunday-like soul and his tie dyed clothes.
I love his songs on repeat, his underlined poetry books, and dress pants paired with lockets.
I love their colorful hair clips, their authenticity, the ways they express themselves.
I love his elation and excitement, I adore his nature of being unafraid to be whatever it is he may be.
I love the way she holds you without touching you.
