Golden

All my life I’ve been golden, meant to change the world and have it all.

I loved it - I really did; the attention, the success, feeling like I could never fall.

I felt holier than thou, flying so high above you with a halo on my crown.

You were copper, bronze, occasionally silver; but I - I was golden.

I didn’t notice that I rose too high, until I couldn’t turn back;

And too close to the sun, my speckled wings burned black.

In the descent from grace, my golden halo broke and scratched my face.

Everything went dark as I fell to the surface and landed face-down in the gray.

It took months before I could look at myself; longer to allow others the same.

Finally, I faced the scars and my body torn apart, then I bathed in golden paint.

In this world of gray, I refused to be gray - no matter how many coats of paint it took.

I needed to try again; I needed to shine again; I needed people to look (at me).

I chased the perfection, came off as pretentious; I was obsessed with not letting them see

That the paint was chipping off my skin scarred and rough. The facade wouldn’t stay on me.

Ashamed and alone, I boarded up my home and sat in the dark with my head buried deep in the floor.

It took years of self-therapy - years of seeing nothing - but I finally didn’t know what gold looked like anymore.

It happened one day - I embraced the gray; it smothered me until I felt nothing at all.

Nothing less, nothing more, nothing colorful for sure; nothing existed behind my walls.

Intoxicated arrangements passed the time, always chasing a high, chasing something to keep me alive.

The little voice yelled stop, but how could I stop? Be quiet and let me forget me for a while (the voice stopped).

Round and round I went; deeper and deeper I got; forget me, forget me not, forget me, forget.

Out of my mind but too in my head; all I wanted was something to make my thoughts stop.

I stumbled upon a paint can once, left over from a life I couldn’t recall in a color I thought I used to know.

My walls were a nice gray, so I threw the can away - who even paints their walls anymore anyway?

After so long in the gray, I forgot what colors looked like - until I woke up to red and blue lights.

With no idea what happened, I was told I had crashed, and they almost didn’t make it in time.

They found me face-down in a lot. I looked around, and I thought I knew of this place.

With that I remembered the life I long forgot; the gold that was lost in the gray.

I started to cry then - realized I screwed up my life then; how could I have fallen so low?

They bandaged me up, and I saw my scars had split open - the red was staining the stones.

Was it all coming back now, or did I just hit my head?

I wiped my eyes for the first time in a long time, and it was true: I could see color again.

It took some time, but I finally made it; I’m finally happy and I’m here to stay.

I’m no longer broken, and my scars give me character, and they share stories I don’t have to explain.

I’m not done growing, but I like where I’m going, and I can officially say I’m proud of myself.

The world was never gray, and I was never golden; my eyes just played tricks on me.

From the deep, painful red that stained the rocks to the strong, brave purple that kept me alive,

I am a prism full of colors, highlighted by the experiences that brought me here - good and bad.

It was a tough journey - many fights I left black and blue - but I survived the gray and learned

That gold is not synonymous with good.

I am not golden (and I am good), and for that I am proud.