The Color of Me

THE COLOR OF ME

The day I was born my mother painted Her canvas was blank and never tainted.

When I saw the world I wanted to be a beautiful, bold tapestry.

What I painted instead was a picture of darkness tainted with the color red.

All those around me handed me the colors You must do and think just as your mother.

In rebellion I painted my face All the colors of the human race. My colors were not my own. A broken crayon alone

But broken crayons still color just fine. My favorite these days is yellow and lime.

The colors I paint don’t matter you see. Now I paint my own tapestry. Woven with glitter and sage. My canvas of the coming of age

But what lies within is the color you believe. Yours alone. My color is me.