Sick of Wearing Blue.

I‘m sick of wearing blue.

Sick of walking out with ocean on my shoes, wearing several hues of that watery colour.

I’m tired of every wednesday morning expected to scream problems, bleeding feelings into ink till my fingers are raw,

tired of late nights crying to have inspiration, torn between to change a nation, nameless faces telling me I screamed well. I cried well. I bled well. Whispers in my ear that would try to tell me to keep slicing deeper and deeper, to bleed out that unspoken ravine in my mind that didn’t need to be touched..

pressure. building in my ears until i’m forced to scream.

pressure, getting into situations i didn’t need to get into to bleed darker.

pressure, to be destined for a life to only wear the colour of the sky, my feelings aren’t allowed to be shy, i never wanted to start to cry, praised for saying i want to die.

I’m sick of wearing blue. Blue shouldn’t be my wardrobe of sweaters, I miss every pastel yellow and gentle green,

so i switched up my style.

I put the comfortable royal sweaters and oversized navy hoodies far back in the closet, but they still seem to peek out, tempting me to wear them again.

Now whenever people ask where the deep shade of cobalt went, I tell them

I’ve brought out my better colours, because like I said,

I’m sick of wearing blue.