My voice.

I call it

peacock power.

My voice.

The part of me,

that transcends

past wounds,

anxious thoughts,

bullied bruises,

and vicious venom.

My voice.

Nuanced notes,

in every glorious shade

of a peacock palette,

with feisty feathers

of passion and LGBTQ+ pride.

Aquamarine musings,

rising from a freshwater pool,

and bursting into a sun-kissed blue sky,

with iridescent blue energy,

and emerald green gumption.

My voice.

Powered by cobalt conversations,

rich in midnight musings

and layered with teal tea-cups.

Posing cornflower questions,

looking for ultramarine answers,

and searching for cerulean stories.

My voice.

Soaked in the glory of rainbow reading

yet knowing that outside our individual bubbles,

is a sea that is less sapphire

and more stormy,

for many.

And so I put a spotlight on:

indigo insights,

turquoise tales,

blueberry battles.

periwinkle pondering

and Yves Klein canvases -

with lashings of

hope and hell.

The sweet and sour of this

crazy colorful thing

we call

life.

Because through

every trial and tribulation,

my voice

transforms into a peacock,

with every shade of blue.

Across a spectrum

of sadness and spectacular joy,

whether:

spoken

written

outlined

scribbled

sung

bellowed

whispered

whimpered

articulated

or silenced.

My peacock claws

climb across

the tricky terrain

leaving streaks of molten blue,

and feathers sometimes clipped,

while my wings continue to

grow

and soar.

A peacock palette

of

power.