Prism
To paint me simply would be a discredit to my whole stretch of life lived and experiences gained. Exploring the idea of a living a life with a box full of paint.
You may paint me out in yellows
as I smile to let you pass
or colour me crimson
as you're staring at my ass.
You could wrap me up in violet
whisper secrets and your lies,
Perhaps I have you seeing green
do you silently despise?
Do you cower in my shadow
in the blackness I can cast?
Do you feel a glow upon your cheek?
Come to my white light, bask.
No matter how you see me,
I know this to be true
That I am like a prism,
the chameleon's changing hue.
When I'm valued, praised and loved
I shine those pigments bright
I use them in the darkness
as they draw me back to light.
When I'm wounded, scorned or broken
I make those colours too.
I have scars and bruises
but they don't simply turn to blue.
If ever it may seem
that you've got my colour picked
Just hold me to the light
and see my spectrum fully lit.
About the Creator
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