I lift myself from all the shattered pieces of glass that would cut through me with an image of the person i didn’t want to be , i will rise from the ashes from all our burned hopes, i am a phoenix, or at least want to be. Bruises covering my body is now a custom to my dressing , as if i had a collection from which i could choose from . The broken lip doesn’t distort my image for the mirror was already cracked. I don’t mind the pain now , it has been happening so regularly that i have now learned to live with it . I have already broken my hands from trying to hold the weight of the world so noone else would have to do it. I have grown fond of the darkness because even when the sun is shinning the people paint my blue skys grey and my green grass into stone. All the colors in my pallet have now gone. The colors we once used to discriminate one another are now batteling to see which is more used if it is the white to distract the burning sun into throwing its rays at another color such as black . But now the walls we are surrounded by are 30 shades of black and when i paint a slash of yellow you people root my pride by painting over it as if it were graffiti and not a statement.
I guess the only color i can find is not with what I see but what I feel . I am not black nor white , im not blue nor pink , i am not grey nor yellow. I am not only one color , i am all. And this color will not change even if you paint me , if you think you can , you might as well try.