I see blue.
Blue is the attitude.
It’s the polka dots to my moods.

You’d think I think it's so tasty;
I eat it up like food.
Indulge, indulge, I gotta take it in…
this thing I feel,
this thing that goes
to spend my time, my heart, my last.

Fine, that's fine, I’ll give it up,
but don’t you tip my glass.

How far I go away from here.
The end is near.
I fear the things I say to me,
the things unspoken by me and she.

Here lies the eyes to see me so clearly
I fit through a straw.

Spread thin, I say:
“I like the butter on my cheese,
his hands on my knees,
have needs,
please me sweet—
just don’t give up on me.”

My time is yet to come.
For what I see is just a thought.

I float.
Fly.
Soar.
High.

In my mind at least,
I’ll reap what she’s sown
and not fight just to feast.

Wherever she may be,
I hope I find her
and she is at peace.

By Asia K. Batchelor