I wear my colors under my skin.
I am an agent.
A person in disguise.
Moving among the masses
Who will never really meet my eyes
On the outside, I am black and white
A pattern of pinstripes down my face
Declaring my false belonging to the "normal" side of the human race.
Below the pattern they think they see
Lies a plumage as beautiful as can be.
Made of starlight and moonbeams
Reds and purples and blues and greens.
A rainbow declaring
If only to myself
That my heart is not caged by black and white bars
But lives among rainbow colored stars.
I wear my colors under my skin
Where no one will know
That I am not of them.
YOU ARE READING
Of Books and Angel Wings
PoetryThese words were written in anger and in sadness and in love. A collection of odds and ends poems who didn't have a home, but now they do. Mariah M. Gilmore Poetry Collection. All rights belong to me.
