I am every single color
that ever there has been,
born of such angry reds
and the most envious of greens,
but I’m as much the pink of love
as I am the blue-violet of doom
and not a day goes by
that my voice does not boom.
For all of the varieties
of a hundred thousand rainbows.
For all the notoriety
of bluish-white Christmas snow.
For all of this and so much more,
such reasons to be thankful for.
You could name a million hues,
far more than man could see,
and still you’d have merely half
of all the marvels I can be.
I remain unmarred by frames,
uncontained, outside the lines.
I’m a stain, a blotch, an ocean,
and I think that’s just fine.
Far better to be flowing free
in a vivid river of shades
than to forget, for even a second,
that in the moment I was made,
the mold was broken, thrown away,
so that there may never come a day
when anyone quite like me
could ever again happen to be.
I am an original. A masterpiece.
My wonders shall not be leashed.
About the Creator
Marianna Felfoldi
An open minded, highly motivated, hardworking, safety conscious, polite and caring person.
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By Marianna Felfoldi3 years ago in Psyche
Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Moore3 days ago in Poets
Was I a Model in Japan?
During my time in Nagoya I worked and lived at the strangely famous hostel and café Nagonoya. With its chequered floors and florescent lighting it felt quite dated, but I think that was supposed to be part of the charm. The dorms were always fully booked on weekends with domestic tourists and there was always a buzz in the downstairs café. Camera crews were constantly in and out of the place interviewing the Japanese staff members who worked the café. I think it had something to do with the egg sandwiches. At least that was what was on most of the merchandise, except for that one dishcloth with the owner’s face on it. Was I being employed by a local celebrity?
By Susanna Kiernan7 days ago in Wander
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