A color

As a child I wanted to be a white woman,

To walk freely amongst the land of the living,

It was all shoved down my throat like feeding tubes,

I wanted to be in a world where my skin

would be the paradigm of beauty,

I once wanted to be a greek goddess,

To be carved out of marble with detail,

But I wasn’t and was never actually going to be.

If confusion could pick a color?

I’d think it would be green.

As a child I was a brown woman in the making,

Being spit on in public for just walking home,

Indigenous features where I could see and

where I could smell,

I couldn’t understand why he would do that.

If scared could pick a color?

I think it’d be brown.

My mother was the same shade and I

thought she was the most beautiful woman I

could have ever seen,

I could hear the canyons in her voice,

The echoes of the boarding school halls,

Her hair flowed like a river down her back,

And just like all rivers; the strands split

further away from the roots,

She talks about her life and everything in it,

About a white horse that men shot in her backyard,

Or about the dog who stayed every night with her,

When her jaw was wired shut after my

grandmother broke it.

Sometimes she talks about her siblings,

Or my older sister who died before she was born,

It is not my place to forgive my

grandmother for lashing out on a child who never knew better,

Or my grandfather who never even tried to stop it,

But when my mother has one of those nights,

I can see parts of them in her,

It’s like all the good parts they threw away,

Somehow made their way back to her.

My first tattoo was of her favorite flower,

She had a sunflower garden in the backyard

until our home was sold from right beneath our feet.

I told you once that I didn’t love you,

That I blamed you for everything,

But you only ever did your best and your best is fine by me.

If love could pick a color?

I’d think it would be yellow.

When I met them it felt like someone latched onto me like a leach,

I couldn’t tell if it felt parasitic or maybe I

could but did nothing about it,

Our friendship was that of a seesaw,

Never at one point could we both be equal.

If I were to be winning where they would be losing,

The high would never last that long;

I never stood in one spot just to ask you

when and how we could fix it,

I just stopped trying and left you alone.

When I did and we met up years later,

You were thin like paper,

Like the air at the peak of Mt. Everest.

If regret could pick a color?

I’d think it would be pink.

When I met you and each scene made my stomach flutter,

As if I swallowed a fistful of butterflies,

I knew in that moment that you were my love.

I didn’t know what that was at the time,

Where I would rather risk everything and

everyone just for a chance to see you once,

But would you have done the same for me?

I already knew the answer before I even asked,

I didn’t like the answer so I kept asking,

Thinking you would say something else.

If heartache could pick a color?

I’d think it would be blue.

When we’re alone in the room and my thoughts run wild,

They fingerpaint on the walls in the dark,

But everytime I turn on the lights; I can’t see them,

I think about the end of the universe,

Not when it all ends but the edge.

If I could feel no gravel beneath my feet,

And could just walk on concrete that’s not there.

Maybe with no gravity I could be a superhero,

I always wanted to fly.

Or if there was a bench and I could just sit for awhile,

And look at the stars around me,

Would I be more perceptive?

Could I ask whoever is out there,

If you had a time machine and could take

back absolutely everything you’ve ever done to hurt people you love,

Would you?

And what color would you paint it?

For if I could pick a color?

It would be my favorite color.

Purple.