Paula Glynn (December 1980 / Essex, Britain)
The Blue Smartie
The blue smartie is rare for sure,
And as rare as a diamond ring,
Being found in the sea.
It searches hearts,
To find and heal pain,
The blue smartie is something,
We cannot explain,
For a shot of poison smells like rot,
And it ages and decays the skin,
It is alone in itself.
Search the world and it cannot be found,
Reaching towards the sky,
And on an airplane we fly,
For we never fall:
We stay strong, no matter the turbulence.
The blue smartie cannot be copied,
It is a foreign language,
Only known on an native tongue,
And black flowers decorate my coffin,
My life over and done, dead & buried,
For a hard life it was,
With many scrapes and scars.
Search the world for pretty girls,
With your imagination, your camera,
And your pen: but this is my pen,
Not quite young, not quite old,
And nail art glitters its glamour,
For a life less ordinary.
And I have found that elusive blue smartie,
In my caddy of candy,
That waits for greedy fingers,
To consume sweets like a drug.
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