watercolor thoughts [completed]

xxvii | m o n u m e n t

inspired by Shakespeare's Twelfth Night | dedicated to @handwrite because of her support

i just realized I already had a copy of this poem in "l e t t e r" but oh well, this one's a bit different so i'll keep it. :) 

dear vibrant boy

i would write a love poem for you

but my heart is stuffed with 

cliches and unspoken words

that are better left as is.

so i'll remain dressed in a 

masked melancholy, in a 

drape of blues, a monochrome

of grays and dulls, 

sitting like Patience on a

pure snow monument, 

smiling at grief,

tears plastered onto cheeks, 

frozen.

i'll keep it all inside, 

bottle it up, freeze my feelings, 

pour it into these 

thin, flimsy pages, 

written by paper-thin skin 

(and bones). 

I could be like Shakespeare,

compose rich tragedies about 

my "broken heart," 

bemoaning the pains of young love

too fresh, too sudden, too long 

and too yearning, 

the complexities of wanting to alleviate

this ever-present burden of hoping

but never wanting to reach its ending. 

but how repetitive the subject of pain

has become, an ageless story, 

always rewinding, replaying, repeating, 

like an old broken CD,

trying to scratch out some new tune. 

i have opened this familiar fiction

too often. 

and Shakespeare is but a realist, 

so instead of infecting everyone with blues, 

I'll hide behind a mask of deceiving

happiness, gilded with streaks of golds

and yellows, 

painstakingly counting down the days 

until you have become a transparency 

of the past. (zero.) 

the past is dead. 

I sit like Patience accepting 

its fate, and do not struggle 

against what you cannot change. 

dear vibrant boy, 

I will hold onto every piece of you

but my memory's bad and

you're painted with a fleeting prettiness.

letting go is pulling a plant out of 

its roots, but the past is dead. 

and look --

I've written my love poem to you.