Not a happy blue either, but a bright, angry, rude blue.
Your loud voice, your harsh actions, your clueless words: everything about you is blue.
I see you in textbooks and Wal-Mart billboard signs and blue raspberry Koolaid--oh so sweet but so overwhelming underneath.
I don't know what it is about you, but you drag me under the ocean of your concerns, drowning everything I love about me while all you do is float to the surface.
You crush me, but I don't say anything about it because I know you won't hear me anyway.
You are in the mid-July bright sky. You are in roadsigns. You scream unnatural and uneasiness and disruption.
You have a glimmer in your eyes when you smile that is so very blue and is so very you because blue is you.
I don't like that smile, because it means something is going to happen, and that worries me.
Because when you open your mouth, there's a tidal-wave and my own color is doused with yours.
It's a battle of color, and somehow, you turn my blackest black blue, which we know is impossible.
The more you turn me blue the harder it is to go back to black.
They always say black is bad, but I wish they knew you are blue and blue is anything but good.
I'm not blue.
I miss you.
So I guess I miss the blue, too.