My Life as a Flow of Colours

1.

A sense of style led me to fall for potent purple, against my rich dark chocolatey smooth skin, it accentuated my legs and begs to identify and verify my regal roots as an ancestor of kings. On my more self-conscious mornings, I get a trickle and a tiny tickle from the youthful yellow Sun; having barrels of fun, stroking my toes, then ankles. I do my secret skip and provocatively swing my broad bold Jamaican hips, telling the Sun thanx, for making me dance, beginning an instrumental rhythm to my flow of Colours.

2.

As I lay my dreadlocked head, on nature’s glorious green grassy bed; I feel the warm orange and tinted yellow rays of the travelling sunshine, infusing me with vitamin D, and my melanin rich body recovers from being locked away for more than day, dealing with insecurities and dreams wrapped in streams of white fluffed clouds bouncing of a brilliant and breathless blue sky.

3.

I get dressed for an evening of exquisite company, and as I balm my glowing black form, I embrace the porcelain texture of my skin. I slip into a structure t-shirt white and hugging match with a ruby red palazzo pair of linen trousers and mahogany brown woven Egyptian slippers knowing with every stride I take to my Table; eyes…eyes….yes, a sea of enquiring eyes will slowly undress me, test me, question my reason to challenge so boldly a norm I choose to reject so coldly. The middle section of my ballad, is delivered and finished with a snake length shiny Cleopatra necklace, eyes made from sparkling diamonds, my inner-self glides outward and I let my audience know, I am here, and I aint’ goin’ nowhere.

4.

To anyone afraid to let themselves be accepted, I give you an aged and challenged Soul, as reason why every day in life should be lived as your season. Move with purpose, stand out, not just stand up. Talk the talk and walk that walk as when the deal is dealt and the last note is sung, let them see, feel and want to be your rhythm of colours strong.

End.

* Karlton A. Armistad is the pseudonym for 43 year old amateur poet/writer Andrew Little, who resides in the little village of Lochcarron in the Scottish Highlands.