At the Crossroads of a Rainbow Bridge

you wouldn't see me, I don't think—

or, at least, I'm not one you'd notice.

a red arrow could be pointing right at me,

but I would be as invisible as a mirage.

beauty is not my synonym, not my shade—

even with all these colors spilling at my feet.

taking a step from red to orange is perfect,

like the cycle of the sun from rise to set,

but the yellow makes me shy, aware,

right before I slide to green and then blue.

it's at the indigo path that I stumble a little,

till you catch my arm and ask me if I'm all right,

and my heart quickens as my shoes stop on violet.

the bridge makes it easy, simple, if I want to walk away,

but you're the crossroad, aren't you, with that open grin—

right before you ask me what choice I want to make?