The Color Green

They kmow not of why they give.

Their reason for giving has disappeared behind their lids of wax paper.

Their feigned love has seeped away and has revealed a love so empty it burns.

I see them as they drink their latté by the lake.

Their clothes so finely wrapped around their tender skin.

Do they not see that those around them have nothing?


A pigeon- its neck bears a green ring- lands by a couple;

They too are having a small latté.

“Shoo! Ugh, such filthy things,” they say.

The woman’s lips are stained rouge.

Her hair, so straight it dares to cut anyone who says otherwise.

She sits like a queen with her legs to one side.


Her partner- a bourgeois- wears a satin suit jacket.

His facial hair is thick and defining.

He does not mind the pigeon as much as the woman.

His eyes are a deep green;




He notices me.

His gaze tears down my firewall within an instant.

How that searing pain rang through my bones.

I wanted to run away.

Be the coward.

I knew that he knew my secrets- my filth.


The woman turns around.

Her blue eyes- cold and unmerciful.


“She is pretty,” I hear her say with cold disdain.

The man says nothing.



A rain drop fell;

One rain drop, two drops.

I look up at the sky.

How grey it is.

The chair across the table moves.

More rain.


“What’s your name?” He asks.

I decide whether I should answer or not.

The woman sighs with jealousy.

The color green.

But, I do not wish to have his company.

I do not need him like she does.


He offers his hand to me.

The red devil on my left shoulder says,” Take it.”

My opal angel warns against it.

But, he is beautiful.

But, he is selfish like the woman.

It is an evil beauty.


The pigeon wobbles towards me and the man.

I smile at the funny bird.

The rain has fallen at full force.

The woman has left.

The funny bird looks at the man, but he does not care.

He does not pay it any mind at all.


I give the pigeon a sunflower seed.

It eats it gladly.

Ugly beauty.

My beauty.

I smile at the man;

I stand up and without a second glance I left.



Poetry Slam: 


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