Unique is the Color of Me

The color of me does not paint me unique.

I am not one leaf, but the whole tree.

I am not one color, but a kaleidoscope of dreams.

It is not my skin that makes me unique, but the passion behind these words I speak,

the colors in my soul that paint me pink, my thumbs of green, my blistered brown feet.

Gold is my heart and red are my cheeks, when we join hands and my spirit can sing.

Unique is the wind that carries my soul to those heightened places my body can’t go.

Like birds flying high of the same feather, we land harmoniously, seemingly untethered.

Looking at the sky, seeing colors together, never thinking of one as better.

Unique are my ideas, these visions I see, with no one else telling me who to be.

The color of my cover is never as it seems, inside there lies unimaginable things.

I do not exist in color, color exists within me.

Unique is a great color to be.