blue

I longed for a muse to inspire me just enough to get out of bed,

but all I could do was sit there. Looking up mesmerized by the vast 

constellations that painted stories long forgotten. The moon 

was so bright that night  that it lit up my small room allowing shades 

of blue to waltz in. At the corner of my room sits a mirror that likes to 

refract my body into many shapes, and sometimes I believe the mirror.

Perception is a funny thing because it contorts and shifts never the same,

and on this night my body was blue and thin much too small for someone to like.

I held my knees to my chest and cried silently as my introspective demons bathe in 

the moon light. I traced my fragile solute accepting my form, in fear that I would

soon fade into the stars. 

My greatest pain was not in that minor, but what stemmed form it. 

The best inspiration came from what I never was and everything I wanted to be.