“Santa Claus Isn’t Real” / "Starships" / "Ultraviolet"
Paint Chip Poetry #28-30: April 28, 29, & 30, 2025
“Santa Claus Isn’t Real”
The silver spoon never quite fit in my mouth. Something about that place told me I wasn't welcome from the jump. Those middle school days were at once dazzling and disquieting— hearing "Santa Claus isn't real" over Christmas party hot cocoa, seeing the knowing smirks on their faces on a fieldtrip to the aquarium, feeling the sympathetic stares of teachers on my back as I walked down the hallway, tasting the smallest slice of Field Day watermelon known to man, smelling the scent of Spring and the aired out gymnasium. Is it better to remember the good times, to live in the land of positive possibility, rather than dwell in the negative particulars— mean girls in short skirts laughing at period stains, bullies shoving condolence cards into locker vents, crushes running scared at the sight of your face, grades slipping, feet tipping over the eggshells, men holding you to standards you'll never meet?
“Starships”
On the long, dark road, lost in the red rock desert, a green flash signals, a tumbleweed floats by, and I am close enough to touch it. Sleep peaks its way into my mind, and the road drifts sideways. Suddenly— a dragon shoots across the sky like quicksilver in the night. Starships race above me at the speed of light, pointing their interstellar rays across the ceiling of my backseat. The upset feeling is still there. I wonder if Keruoac ever felt an ounce of this fear.
“Ultraviolet”
Fate has once again brought her bounty to me. Arriving at the strangest time, when I decided it was time to be on my own, when I chose to center myself, You arrived quietly, like a perfect summer's day— all warm and sweet and rare. Your aura glowed like ultraviolet light— hidden and unknowable at first sight. I could have never prepared for it— the goodness you exude with your exhales, that breathless laugh that unfolds from the receiver like an iris. My cautious ways were no match for it— the grasping at good fortune, the holiest of grails. Black cats could never scare me away, not when you smile at me, close-lipped, and promise silently to honor and obey. I am afraid my obsessive thoughts might betray any momentary glimpse you had of me as the sort of pretty for whom one writes poetry. I am the forever disaster, caught half-way between new dreams and former lovers. Still, you are more than a subtle reminder. You are the break in the case, You are, perhaps, the greatest luck I've ever had.
What is Paint Chip Poetry?
While browsing an art supply store recently, I came across a small game box filled with small paint chips and prompts—simple building blocks with which to create infinite poems and colorful sequences.
I’ve always adored poetry but never felt particularly adept at writing it. This year, I’d like to try and get better. With it being National Poetry Month, I thought it would be a fun writing challenge to use this game box as inspiration to write a brand new poem every day for the entire month of April.
The Rules
I must choose a prompt and four-to-eight paint chips at random. I get a single opportunity to re-draw a sample if I’m not feeling it, but that’s it. Just one. However, I can redraw if I get a repeat.
I must write a poem using the prompt and all of the paint chip words/phrases within the text of the poem. They must be bolded and italicized.
I must post the poem each day to Substack & include a photo of the paint chips in every post.