Colors

there is no perfect metaphor

to paint what colors instill

in our eyes and hearts,

on our patterned dresses,

our curtains that gently sway

in the languid spring breeze.

there is no perfect place

to view the colors that already exist

or that are yet to exist.

we can only see a few at best,

on the yellow dandelions that push up

between the cracks in crumbling sidewalk,

or in the mass of faces and hopes

we know as humanity.

i love the colors.

i wear purple to show i'm royal,

yellow to be merry and gay,

or blue when i gaze up at the sky

in the broad, bright light of day.

i wrap myself in rainbows,

to show the sun shines in spite of rain,

that pleasure follows pain,

that in love there is no hate.

i am not inspired by the colors

as one is inspired by a great artist,

but rather i breathe them,

welcome them upon my skin,

cherishing them without and within.

we all show our colors somehow.

we all share our faces and hopes,

donning the rainbows of unsung heroes

or pop-stars everybody knows.

some people say they don't see color.

they ignore it as though they are blind to the vibrance

that characterizes every individual from head to toe,

the uniqueness that makes a person their own rainbow.

it's foolish to say that two people can be the same color.

the colors don't divide us.

we are all different colors of our own,

and they unite us in that we are the

colors themselves.

we are the colors themselves.

say it like the sun says to rain that it will shine-

we are the colors themselves.

say it like the forgotten peoples say to the earth-

we are the colors themselves.

say it everywhere you go, to everyone you meet-

we are the colors themselves-

and someday the whole world will bask

in our rainbows.