True Colors

Stardust is just another word for

Color.

Do I truly exist without it?

Eyes without color are empty gazes, blocking me from the soul—

Hollow bodies colder than when Antarctica is held hostage under a cloak of darkness,

Hidden from the sun.

No escape. Nowhere to run.

Dust-lit sunsets which bleed over the meadows mean nothing when the

Yellows, Oranges, and whites

Remain hidden from the light.

To be invisible means to love without memories,

To stare into empty space,

To mirror the gaze of eyes robbed of their

Color.

It’s more than just a splash of paint upon a canvas,

Or

Hues stained along barren walls, cold concrete, leather, or cotton.

Often forgotten are the Jazz tunes which blow soft blues,

Anxiety filled rooms that bring a rush of redness to my cheeks,

And the greens of jubilee and everlasting energy.

The beauty of

Color

Is that it is as matter—

only better because it’s far more than only three forms.

The other versions show us the things which do and don’t matter—often black matter.

For instance, we can talk about my black skin.

I love my dark skin, but the world tends to show me it’s a sin—

Trayvon Martin,

Michael Brown,

Philando Castile,

Breyonna Taylor,

Tamir rice,

Murder’s I’ve seen with my own eyes…

I’ve heard the bloodied cries echoed in my mother and sister’s voice as they looked at me,

Called me,

Told me that I could be any one of them because of the

Pigment and melanin

In my skin,

meant to protect me from the sun.

Run was my first choice—

Run from the sun and return to the cloak of darkness,

Because in spite of the light, no matter how bright or vibrant,

I became invisible the more I’d seen my color being slaughtered in the streets.

Where I come from, blue and red light’s careen toward my color

Like no other.

My

Color

Is mistaken as a weapon,

So for their botched protection, they point their guns at us.

Even as we raise our hands to the heavens, they send us back to the dark.

No heart. No remorse, of course.

Ignored is the blood that stains the white sheets as we’re tucked to sleep upon the tattered concrete.

We all bleed red. We’re all the same inside. What is it?

Pride? Greed? Envy?

All three are things of which we were warned of, but there lies something else which scorns us,

And for a long time, I was torn apart because of these things.

However, being who I am, I never ran from the light.

Inside of me, my inner colors protected me from the dark.

My love for rainbows manifested itself into something intertwined with my heart—

Olive black stripes,

Pumpkin orange cowhide,

Scorched crimson skin plus

Jet black bands,

Pacific blue, laser lemon, mantis green shades

All thrown atop

Manufactured latex and air.

Basketball

Became my true colors.

Also,

These black words,

Written in herds of metaphors and similes

Are to me,

what atoms are to stardust:

Everything or what it means “to be”.

They are the 4th form of matter—

An eternity, never to be shattered.

What

Color

is supposed to be.

Stardust isn’t just another word for color.

It is color.