Bluegirl

Bluegirl, Timid, Rebel, Cute, Colorful, Fun, Collectible, Postcard

I long to be blue,
akin to the sky and sea;
periodically moody,
yet ever honest,
emboldening my own color
to burgeon forth
in clarity. 

I rendezvous with Mister Bluejay;
he identifies me as Missus Bluedee.
Carrying word from the wide blue yonder,
I hearken with my heart—
oh how he chats up a gale!
Hiding nuts for his future exult,
we maintain a rare rapport.

You can unmask me at the cloverleaf 
of dreamily-thoughtful 
and romantically-melancholy;
precisely where I earned the title of,
“Introspection Queen.”

At this junction,
I can entertain proper sadness
about the business of being blue;
for I embrace funkiness, 
like my bosom buddy Eulalie.
We gladly bend our ears 
in respect to all the missed connections 
drifting throughout the ether.
May they rest in peace
and come back around
in the eleventh hour.

The blues ache to guide me
to a profound place 
of sincere sensitivity.
Heeding my hanker to grasp,
they supply a song
I can dive into,
wading my way
toward gratefulness,
freshly dressed with sense and aim.

The secret of sorrow remains
that felicity lives at its core,
like a rosy kernel. 
So eat up the glum,
minding its flavors
and out of the blue,
the seed of paradise 
will be revealed!—
You cannot eye it from the sheath,
but believe in what bides beneath it,
for that is the spirit of the sublime.
 
To be blue 
is to be close to happy.
I persist for such sweetness
known as anticipation.
How agreeable it feels
to patiently hold the phone
with high hopes 
and top-drawer company—
Is this not what continuance be touching on?

I am a timid rebel 
with quite a cause:
I crave to connect 
and link myself to you;
honor you as a brother 
and share affinity for each other.
Related and twined,
there be no telling
what we can affect 
as one.
(Just ask Inky,
my fellow feline samurai).

I aim, prepared
to join you,
with all my feelers on:
Leaves arrayed in hair,
(please trust I come in peace),
heart sewn on onesie,
it is no puzzle what I pursue.

(For the record books),
my choice numeral is six
and I groove on fuzzy things;
I sport glasses when I reverie
to magnify my reflection vision;
I care about diving deep,
where the unspoken things grow.

I am a classified super-sensile creature;
this remains my primal spunk.
A symbol becomes my outer palm,
which I refer to as,
“Hand of Astarte,”
prompting me to gaze up
now and again.

Clutch no confusion,
for I may be blue,
but I flow from pink.


Bluegirl, Timid, Rebel, Cute, Colorful, Fun, Collectible, Button, Magnet

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