I hate yellow. Maye had left a box for me, encased in it a sunny blouse. I had barely seen what I was becoming until I had already crossed, and I stared at my reflection in distress. The color emphasized the cuts still stained on my body from when you came, my dried eyes morphing into discontent.
Maybe that's why I fell in love with the black accompanying the lights dancing across the sky. The lack of morality gave them such a choice, ironic as it seems. In this world, everything is quiet. No sound, no memories, no pain. Simply stillness.
But then, what am I?
Am I nothing, as you told me?
No matter how disruptive my opinion, I refuse to accept that. Maybe once I had dwindled, disappearing at such a notion. Now, I grab the yellow blouse with fury, placing myself in front of my door. It itched, but as terrible as it felt, I keep walking, until the door slams behind me. The determination boiling through my veins left my body quaking with adrenaline, my vision spotting.
Is this what reality looks like?
YOU ARE READING
Colors Behind the Glass ✓
Poetry[COMPLETED] Lonnie has been through several life-changing events. The most impactful is the death of their abuelita and the loss of someone close to them as they came out as non-binary. They have struggled with coming to terms with these two facts...
