blue blood

my blood is blue                                                                                                                     because that is the color of their eyes                                                                                         staring fixedly ahead from behind a glass frame                                                                         without a care in all the world                                                                                                           the dancing light on the pane as it wobbles in my unsteady hand                                                     masks the fact that they are only two-dimensional

like the paper that yells words at me                                                                                   yammering about their blood types and genetic tendencies                                                           as if I could care any less                                                                                                                   but I drink in the small black print as if it were a transfusion

giving me life                                                                                                                               giving me a chance at a different life                                                                                                   I will never have

but behind a glass pane in a window in a small white house                                                      walk four very three-dimensional people,                                                                                        one of which has the gray-blue eyes from behind that glass frame                                                     I have seen that house, and I want to live in it                                                                                     but I am not in Florida, where the orange trees blossom and the sun shines brighter than                on my own brown house with large windows

even though my /mom\ in the brown house with brown eyes once told me to go back to Florida and see what kind of a life I would’ve had there. unpleasant, I suppose, but at least everyone would have the same color blood, here I pop out like an orange on an olive tree, I’m obviously not an Italian, psht suglia indeed with the silent g and all

I take comfort in the fact                                                                                                                 that the blood in the two little girls’ veins runs blue, too                                                                   like their eyes

my eyes are blue, too

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