Braille.

Red—the sweet embrace of summer sun-kissed skin,
orange is campfire heat against your hands whilst making smores. 
Yellow? The feeling of your stomach jumping into your chest. 
Green: the spirit of nature, pure as pine needles, or eucalyptus healing.
Blue is berated for tears that sting your eyes then stream sadly down your cheeks. 
Indigo is the way winter nips our fingers
and magically transforms every breath we take to smoke. 
Violet is the feeling of victory, but also the same hue as humble. 
Then black is the beautiful serenity of the solitude we seek, 
it is the comfort of the dark, the colour of rest, and the mystery of night.
White is...frankincense in chapels, or aromatic sage.  
It is something sacred, that can even soothe the most unsettling of our thoughts.
Even without our eyesight, this world's vibrant colours can still be felt by our hearts.
With our remaining, heightened senses as our paintbrush,
life becomes the canvas of our souls.

Agápe

No eucalyptus leaf or salve could save her,
aloe was even unable to alleviate the ache.
Radiation scarred railway crossing ribs,
a maze of malignant monstrosities.

Stage three symptoms of a sinking soul,
hospice workers heard heartbroken woes. 

With each breakthrough's failure, her future faded further;

a flower wilted from one final forsaken Summer.

A broken bass, steadied then sedated,
perforated pulse that beat then fell flat.
Sighs were heaved and wrists were wrung from grief.

Suddenly a silent hum sprang from her center,

a symphony that left science in a stupor.

Medical marvel granted a second chance from her creator;
equipped with a clean bill of health erased by Heavenly saviour.

Seventeen.

When I was seventeen, I lost my mind for the first time, and the world became a frightening place.
I lost my understanding of reality,
when the bipolar beast reared its ugly face.

Suddenly, my brain malfunctioned and made me paranoid,
I no longer trusted anyone, and believed they wanted to ruin me.
It was like my life had been destroyed,
and I was living in a post-apocalyptic, nightmarish dream.

Attempted suicide so many times the hospital staff all knew me by name,
oblivious to reason, I was convinced a microchip had been implanted in my brain.
I watched afraid as everything I knew and loved went up in flames,
in order to refrain from harming myself or others, I was placed in restraints.

Traveled across Canada by bus in order to escape and get away,
running away only made it worse, and I was locked away again.
Days turned to weeks then months, as I slowly returned to the me of yesterday.
There is nothing in this life that compares to the anguish of mental illness and its pain.

Family Feud.

One loose thread is all it takes
for an entire tapestry to unravel.
An entire year's labour of love
can come undone in seconds.

Emotions change as quickly as
colours in kaleidoscopes,
a single misperceived look or pointed barb
can turn the comfort of calm into an atomic bomb.

When personalities can range
from laidback to neurotic and back again,
there is no guessing when moods will sour
from resentments repressed for far too long.

Like earthquakes that strike unexpectedly,
and level entire cities in an instant,
the ego can take control,
and tear families apart in minutes.

Strong, silent matriarchs are reduced to tears
by their ungrateful children,
siblings, once inseparable,
act more like polite strangers
who tiptoe around politics or religion.

Effective communication
is the only tool capable of
scaling the walls we build when we are hurt.
Alas, it is a rare talent that so few of us possess.

Unless assertiveness is an option, conflicts will snowball
until they are impossible to resolve.
Until we learn to let go of past hurts
that weigh us down, we will not evolve.

Instead, we will remain
stuck in this revolving door,
where we can assign blame 
without ever accepting our own faults.