Magenta

I am an intricate tapestry

finely woven from rainbow fibers

made up of every moment and every being

that has had a powerful effect upon me,

though understated.

Hey, ever notice how those dreamy sunsets look hand painted?

Or how the clouds seem so genuine,

somehow so candid,

in their expressions?

When I hear the doves cooing,

I am reminded of my father,

‘cuz for all his wiles and all his woes

he chose the color turquoise for the door

and for the handle he hung up a smooth little antler.

He did it without a second gander,

not realizing the unwitting transfer of magic upon any who may enter,

individuals inquiring about the fuzzy red-headed sugar canes,

or openly despairing for a sip of water.

Curled up in front of the television,

my legs crossed as I fiddled with my toes,

I paid no mind to folks who entered my home.

My eyes completely preoccupied by the box of light.

The faeries of Fantasia kept me hypnotized;

with pure delight I admired their rhythmic flight,

as they imbued the world around them, without compromise,

with a sense of strong and growing wonder

as each flick of their little wands

brought about another moment

of glittering, dew-drop splendor

spiderweb constellations glistened

as I felt the admiration of a lover.

Oh, how lovingly those image were rendered!

Brilliant hues blended so gently I could hear them whisper,

and romantic brush strokes shouting from deep within their bellies

with the passion of a wax-sealed love letter.

Oh, so overcome with emotions, I shuddered!

My imagination pounded with the fury of a distant wartime drummer!

Familiar thoughts draped upon me like a cloak of nostalgic cover.

As my age advances, so do my options suffer.

I am merely a child, ill adept at procuring cheddar,

rather left at the mercy of humanity’s treasures!

I am an artist, I give voice to emotions.

A gift bestowed upon me by my own curiosity.

I am my own huckleberry, of this I am assured,

but when do I reach my time of reckoning?

I think the answer lies within seeing myself honestly.

It took me a while to realize what others gain

when they take me in, and drink from me.

Artworks better described as love potions, anyway.

A mixture of rainbow splendor and vulnerability,

though I often mistook my efforts as ineffectuality.

I hide magenta in absolutely everything-

even in plain sight atop my own head,

and when I look in the mirror

I feel like myself again.

I was born brunette,

but in truth, I can be anything.

The only limit is the strength of my own imagining.

I am a spectrum of colors,

but at my center,

I am magenta.