Need to be Free

Growing up in the country scene, with so much green it could feel obscene, I'd see pretty flowers growing wild in fields with trees growing over the stop signs and yields.

My culture, my crowd, the people with me loved to mimic the views that could always be seen with florals and colors that burst forth in Spring 'til cold air would drain them for the Wint'ry King.

The vibrancy had so much noise that I'd fade, I'd fall far away into black or dark gray. All I wanted was an ebon display that my fondness for darkness was hatred for days. Surely that keeps all trouble at bay.

But sadly, it is I, Queen Oblivious. I used my style to promote an abyss, but instead all I got was an unwanted kiss.

How can absence of color create such distraction from being humane in your approach to a person who has more value than your halfhearted delusion?

It promotes a strong need to hide from the colors that weave through the fashions of happier brothers and sisters who use them to fly a proud banner of all of the ways they enjoy such a manner.

For it speaks of a strength of someone who's wanting to go for their dreams regardless of haunting the heart of the target who means nothing more than a prize to be gained, not a love to adore.

This "strength" is a weakness that I have rejected as excuses instead of what's simply expected.

Your colors mean nothing if they sing of a soul whose core is of no actual substance at all.

So let me be free, devoid of all color, and maybe someday I'll try out another.