a year in technicolor

what am i?

i have seven months

to define seventeen years

in 650 words or less.

no problem;

i have plenty of time.

it's only june, after all.

 

beautiful souls surround me

united over four years of differences

my heart, saturated with love,

aches when I shuffle through fifty polaroids

of a sun-soaked august

that will one day be coated with dust.

closer than ever,

only to be torn apart next june.

we are art

my heart

rejects a clean start.

 

so what is my purpose?

the applications demand one.

i turn my eyes inward

on my last october 3rd

of my very last year.

last.

past.

painfully fast.

 

sand through my fingers

hail through trees

moments are faster

and deeper than ever.

my starriest nights blind me

my loudest laughs reverberate

i am seized by a sudden awareness

of the state of my world.

my state. 

my fate.

time will not wait.

 

anyway, who am i?

an artist, of course.

an artist of life.

a connoisseur of the canvas.

a monet of moments.

i define my existence

in 650 colorful words

then hit submit.

submit.

maybe i'm enough to admit

or maybe i'm completely unfit.

i entertain, then dismiss, the option to quit.

 

a year of questions.

of answers. 

of newness.

of reflection.

of the sweetest music

and the sourest taste.

a long list of lasts 

in vivid technicolor

and guess what?

there's more to come.

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741