Spectrum

I hear in colours no one else can see;

A burnished oxblood month of May is what

The grey matter of my brain says to me.

And Wednesdays as blue as forget-me-nots.

Grisly clashing when these words are wrongly

Tinted in hues that are not my palette

Of tinges and tones I feel so strongly,

Visceral longing for my alphabet

To paint the tale of a new way of life,

Neurodiverse in the plain light of day

The reasons for all my past pain and strife.

Here I am, light and dark colours array,

A spectrum of ribbons and senses new

Enough about me, now tell me of you.