"what kind of guys do you like?"
my friend asked me, and i just stared up into the night sky,
tracing the constellations with my pupils.
i came to a sudden epiphany: i wasn't sure, but i mumbled,
"i like boys that make me green."
she cocked her head at me. "what do you mean?"
i sat up, feeling the soft grass tickle my exposed skin.
"i like boys that make me green.
boys that make me yellow with happiness
and blue at the same time."
she nodded, and i asked her what kind she liked.
we talked for a bit longer about men,
then went on to artistry as we looked up at the moon.
"the thing with paintings is that people have colors too.
some have pink in their hair.
some have red hot anger in their soul,
taking it out on others and beating up their lovers
like they're punching bags.
some have hearts green with envy,
some are filled with lilac skies.
it just depends on the person, i suppose."
"i never thought about it that way," she muttered,
"but what if you're all colors at once?"
"that's the thing, you see:
that person is then considered art."

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