The familiar twinkle

You are the puzzle I've solved many years ago,
On the day we came crashing down onto each other,
Leaving between us a mess of tangled up red knots,
As we dangled around in the stuffy room,
Frantically searching for each other's fingers,

Today the last of the red knots were unbind,
And as we found each other on the glittering floor,
I whispered that your fingers are electric,
Just as your smile,
Was telling me that so was mine.

Your fingers are made of garlics and chopped wood

You are always brown,
Always, as if you have chosen your mascot colour,
With your skin as the mask,
Standing slightly bent,
On jagged feet shaped by broken glass,

You have always been an arrow,
Straight, unbent and piercing,
With intensity that didn't fade with your hair,
You could break me in half if you wanted to,
Many times you have done so without intending to,

Maybe all I wanted you to know is that its okay,
That I'm okay,
That I've grown to know the value of lost things,
The value of a brown arrow,
Straight yet bendable,
With uneven, rusty tip,
Piercing and intense,
With bitter scratch marks,
An old school wrought iron,
Patched together as many times as it broke.

Vibrance in monochrome anguish

You can count the pills like everyone else count their blessings,

And I will count the times you've said no when you felt a yes is too dangerous,
Because we've been taught that conformance is a blessing and dissent is a curse,

And I promise I'd understand every time it gets you confused,
Because we've both seen how blessings consume people like the pills consumed you.