I am the Canvas
Color is Pride: True Colors - Painting the body with love.
There was a time once when my skin's pale shade
caused me more grief than it did any joy.
Lacking the golden earthy depths that made
me envy the depth others may employ.
The way my alabaster skin reflects,
the sun's spectrum of luminosity.
Like a prism; maybe I can project
colors that piqué my curiosity.
Like the white of a canvas, I can host
each band of the rainbows color's bright;
blue veins, green bruises, and my red blood boast
Purple-eyed sadness like the dead of night.
My blank skin was once not a point of pride.
Until colors marked it along the ride.
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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