wind, hope, truth, love

I think wind is my favorite color

The thought of a being larger than the earth I stand on

Painting me a new shade with its broad, sweeping strokes

One that I never see with colorblind eyes

Alive

Hair blowing, eyes closing just slightly, clothes rippling in the air

I am still; I am moving

Never before have I been free, never in the colors I can see

Red is regret, new beginnings, and the price I pay to live

Blue is unknown, uncharted, and all too familiar

Yellow is the color I painted my ceiling as a seven-year-old with too much power and not enough knowledge about color theory

Everyday, these optical illusions with their multiple meanings cross wires, activating the video signal in my 1950’s television brain

All I see, variations of gray

And on days far worse, an all-consuming black and omniscient white

So, I choose to prefer the colors I’m gifted with seeing

The nervous hope of two lovestruck lesbians desperate for reciprocity

The feeling of failing on purpose to prove a point and never dilute my complex truth

The way she looks when she loves herself and her hue overtakes me

And the wind

These are the colors I know I can see