Blue Child.

Bring back my childhood on dirty feet
and nimble limbs, bones made for conquering
my own world and see beyond what's laid
down for me.

I'd prefer being a child colored in blue once more,
not this older version of an indigo soul, I'd rather
cry myself to sleep in the safety of time than lay
awake at night with insomnia spilled over my eyes.

I cracked my bones and pulled my teeth, blood had never
fazed me, some things stay unchanged, until this day I
see the red come from veins and arteries and picture
nothing but bright rivers and stars colored red.

This blue child pouring ink over blank
pages never suited them as fine as the tight
necklace of love, one that with ocean clear eyes
I saw dig down until it kissed their bones.

We were the children of the night, taught how
to put pressure on flowering wounds, how to bite
down our lips until the ghost of our words bled out,
to hold back the screams of what we dreamt about.

I want the hunger of childhood, the feeling of always
wanting more, but it is a tired joke - a poem never
written, empty as even then I wanted nothing, and yet
I spilled, a pale blue has always filled my brain and lungs.

Go ask the sky how to hold: onto time, onto life,
we don't know, but don't you see? Even the stars grow up,
colored in something more than the melancholic shade they came in,
they stop shining as Selene lives through their fall.

This blue child came with summer in her hair, fire
tendrils that burned with the winter inside her chest,
the green of an iris that survives the cruel death
of each season, an original sadness to freeze out the world.

And so bring back my childhood, I want to feel the same,
shades of blue to cover me, cursed with a pain I never knew
how to wear, this world is full of grey souls, I don't seem to
fade in, I remember back then I could play pretend.