Everything Else

I.

Seven was red— pink cheeks

a perfect apple

•

One day, I learned to sing a song:

“I love to see the temple.”

My Sunday School teacher taught me

I should try to be perfect

•

White, not red

Peaceful, not childish

•

Someday, I’d put on clean clothes

linen bleached too bright

I’d be nearly perfect

so pure

Jesus would want me there

•

No more flushed, rosy cheeks,

no more bright scarlet t-shirts

•

“I love to see the temple,

I’m going there someday.”

Someday I’d be pure

but not today

•

Today I got to be red.

II.

Fourteen was green—

viridian forests

mossy light through the trees I climbed

•

It was a fresh year:

new house

new school

new friends

•

I was nearly eighteen—old enough to go in the temple

but there was a problem:

boys aren’t supposed to look at other boys.

•

It’s not pure.

Not right.

Not white.

•

I was fourteen

green with the hope

that my sins would wash away

I could be perfect

Not green, not red—

white.

•

“I love to see the temple,

I’m going there someday.”

Someday I could be perfect, right?

But not today

•

Today I was only green.

III.

Twenty-one was blue—

azure horizons

tearful weekends

•

Old enough to go to the temple

but not clean

gay

•

In the temple, God promises to make you better

stronger

purer

•

But in return, you have to promise to stay

clean

•

Men who love men

would be out of the question

•

I questioned

long, blue nights

deep indigo

deep in my room

unsure what to believe

•

“I love to see the temple,

I’m going there someday.”

Or was I?

I longed to be pure and white

but every color inside me was a stain,

fighting

to come out

•

Today I was blue.

IV.

Twenty-six is

everything

•

The yellow sunlight of a day at the dog park

The orange cliffs of a secret canyon to explore

The violet blooms at the botanical gardens

The blue of the cool ocean at sunset

The green of my baseball cap hanging from his bedpost

The red of my nose – burnt after a perfect weekend with the man I love

•

“I love to see the temple”

is hard for me to say these days

•

It’s something I’ll never be

plain

untouchable

white

•

Maybe it’s childish

or hopeful

or even a little sad

•

I’ll never be perfect

•

I’ll never be perfect—

but that’s okay

I get to be everything else.