Feature Film

You were my indie movie mid-day dream

Set to a score I pretended to know

With a grayscale gaiety

And acoustic attitude

Where there is no build,

Only the drop into love

And a perplexing end

Tied up with a pretty metaphor.

I pretended to not miss the colors

Because you are abstract excellence

With an objective too complex for the viewership.

And you expect me to manipulate the monochrome

And see your true colors.

Yet you are all gray area.

So let’s not cross this imaginary line,

Leave it alone in the black and white,

In a stack of half-filled sketch books.

We were never meant for a silver screen.

This poem is about: 


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