The Searching

Colors

My hands are tied tight,
Help me. Save me.
My face is drawn blank.
I'm crying. I'm fading.

The light of my being is wavering. Dying.
My heart screams out,
I'm running, I'm crying.
But outside reveals nothing.
Smiling, ever smiling.

The world is white, bright, and bland,
Color is scorned, it's hated, it's banned.
Coats of white I paint myself,
I mimic others-it does not help.

Their clear water shines sparkling and true,
You do not understand,
I cannot be like you.

Paint it. Bleach it. Scrub 'till it bleeds.
But underneath I am colored,
I can only be me.

I am blue when I'm sad,
And red when I'm mad,

When in love, I turn pink,
When I'm hurt, the grey reeks,

I'm purple when I wake,
And glow yellow for my siblings sake.

Also I am hard, steely, and loyal-black,
Mess with my friends and I'm sure to attack.

Don't get too close, darling,
But please don't stay to far,
Let this colorful enigma last forever,
Stay right where you are.

But selfish is the child,
Who is suppressed, who is trapped,
The butterfly, too, is colorful,
But it must be made so it's wings again flap.

I don't want to loose you,
Oh I love you so,
But to God I am faithful,
I must cover with white and go.

Perhaps the white will set,
Maybe all the way through it will go,
But I look in the mirror ,
And I know it's not so.

So help me, butterfly,
Don't leave like the rest,
Please help me someone,
See past the fake white, into my sinful nest,

The white is surely chipping,
The colors pool past my feet,
I cry out for help,
But soon I must admit defeat,

But my heart keeps me pinned
The glossy white of heaven shines down,
Ashamed, dark and broken,
I scream out as I drown,

A hard, silent scream,
Makes it way out,
It sounds out for all to feel,
But the clear ignore the broken' shout.

Through the dark water's surface,
The white glow slows,
And I enter a place,
Neither clear nor color knows.

It is here in the darkness,
To dark to be black,
I realize that white belongs with color,
But it's too late to go back.

The white paint, it is gone,
The colors, too, flow away,
A silent strangle, a thrash of pain,
And all is gone, all straight and all gay.

Here in the nothingness,
My nothing joins yours,
It joins your unfought battles,
Your silent heartaches, your covered sores,

But people don't understand,
Life is so, so precious,
Why would they waste it,
On such insignificant demands???

I don't care if your straight, bi, or gay,
Nor if your silly hatred cannot be swayed,
But though we force ourselves to play differently in this game,
With hate in our hearts, we all die just the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is for a dearest friend of mine. I, however, ask that you read even if you aren't my friend in question. Some advice is universal.

No matter how twisted someone is, how hated, how hateful, we all have some things in common. We all, for a temporary time, live and breath. We were all crafted from the same lowly dirt, and one day to the dirt we shall return. But right now, in this very moment, you're alive. RIGHT NOW, you are alive. Take a breath. Look around! The scene might not be pretty, but it's the black that makes the white precious when (and I mean when, not if) you stumble upon it. And in this very moment, and all the moments to come, believe that no one will take that away, no matter how untrue it may be. As long as you can say 'right now, I'm alive,' you have the right to make the short, precious, fleeting moments last into the record of eternity.

If you end it, you take away one of the few things you have. You take away your birthright to say 'right now, I'm alive' as long as you are, indeed, alive. You take away your chance for things to get better. I don't know if things will get easier. I'd be lying if I said things are always getting better for me. But I know if you don't hold on, if you don't cling onto the phrase 'right now, I'm alive,' then how would you ever know?

Life isn't beautiful because it lasts forever. It isn't beautiful because everyone and everything in it is, which, in case you haven't figured it out yet, it's not. It's not even beautiful because there may be but a single beautiful thing that makes you open your eyes in the morning. It's beautiful because all of the most hideous, terrible, grotesque moments and the most pure, rejuvenating, and wonderful moments all twirl together, endlessly, fleetingly, in this crazy, thrilling enigma known as life. All of the bad things and all of the glorious things existing together are what makes it amazing. So enjoy it, because tomorrow you may not have a chance to.