Britney Atebe

Visible light

When you don’t see color you won’t see the blood of my wounds against my skin. Bleeding a deep red turned black from years of lashes and tears left untreated. Swollen skin scared purple and blue. Silver bullets rip pink flesh burying deep, growing trees of green, grass freshly mowed, yellow sun high, white picket fence, flag on the front of the porch flying a radiant red white and blue. Looking across the street to your neighbor, do you see a reflection, do you see right through and if so are they even looking back at you.