Her name was Violet.

When I look up at the sky whenever it is healing from a storm

I never fail to be inspired by the art that has formed

An array of colors softly stretching as far as the eye can see

The hues each symbolic of the stories of folks much like me

Red like my temper exemplified, and more lovingly, like my cheeks

That I rouge along with the full lips from which I’m proud to speak

Orange was the color of the dress I wore on that warm summer’s day

When I blurted out the words to her that I’d been terrified to say

Yellow was no longer mellow when I was empowered to accept my truth

That queerness had bubbled underneath the surface since youth

Green with envy was I at first of those who didn’t have to wonder just how much

Their attraction was to boys versus that of girls and such

Blue were the days before her, when I struggled with my identity

Until I stopped falling for her and started falling for me

Indigo — not blue — was her favorite color; about that she was exact

A decade may have passed but I still remember that fun fact

Violet, a color in the flag that I now proudly fly

And to those days of denial I’ve long-since said goodbye

It was also her name; the girl who years ago helped me

Become the woman I am now, who is proud of her entirety

We have lost touched over time but I have never forgotten her role

In helping me turn my fragments into something proud and whole

From my fiery red temper to my violet pride, I put none of myself on the shelf

As I’m proud to be the princess who broke free from shame and saved herself

We all need a Violet in our life, whether we are age 4 or 94,

Someone who reminds us we’re not too much and that it’s okay to be more

So during cotton candy sunsets and afternoons that feel quite blue,

I’m proud to be both the storm, and the rainbow after, too.