white light contains all the colors:
we learn this in science class,
watching a prism split a beam.
as light bounces off an object to enter our eyes,
waves of differing lengths encounter
the retina’s hungry photoreceptors,
which absorb and transmit,
through a whorl of nerves,
signals our brains will interpret as color.
yet what we “see”
is not the color a thing is
so much as what it is not.
for example: my iris
takes in all the rippling waves
except short, scattered blue ones.
so you see my eyes
as the color
they rejected.
how often do we show the world
the things we aren’t
instead of what we are?
for years i only wore black,
a color that absorbs all
the wavelengths on the visible spectrum.
black collects:
dust, cat hair, light.
it is the ultimate acceptor.
i wore black because it went with everything,
because it was safe.
black didn't stand out,
make a scene, elicit stares.
i was raised in a world
where women were born guilty,
smudged with sin,
creations tasked
with making others happy.
i learned to absorb criticism,
hang my head low. like a black mark,
i took it all in, i let go of nothing.
it wasn’t my place
to shine brightly,
shimmer, or be seen.
in that world,
colorful ones were dulled
into submission,
toned down, asked to lower
their voices, change
into something less noticeable.
wrapped in a shroud of mourning,
my true colors waited
while the dogma rained down.
one day, my dark cloak became so heavy
i could barely move.
when i wriggled out of its depths,
rejecting the expectation
to accept without questions,
i reflected for the first time.
my questions were quiet and small
but sometimes, it only takes a whisper
to blow away the clouds.
light streamed through at last
and rainbows poured out of me,
as if i were a prism
reflecting not what i wasn’t
but all that could be,
refracted and put on display.
i bought yellow shirts and pink platforms,
draped my hips in orange, wore brilliant parrots
on my shoulders, green on my lips.
i stood out, stopped worrying
about making other people happy,
embraced everything colorful.
i’m no longer an object
reflecting rejection to others.
i wish i could go back in time
to the girl wrapped in black,
that most comforting of colors,
and tell her there is no light without shadow
that black holds the rainbow,
it accepts all colors, even mine.
i'd tell her women aren't objects,
we don't exist for other people's comfort,
if we're tasked with anything,
its with creating a world
more beautiful than the one we were given.
i'd tell her to pay attention in science class,
raise her hand, and ask more questions.
i'd tell her
one day, she'll
light up a room.
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