The Rainbow Didn't Choose You

The rainbow keeps terrible company,
say those who mistake pride for provocation.

It appears without asking churches,
without reading comment sections,
without permission.

Just light
breaking itself open
on the spine of the sky.

Children lift their faces.
Birds keep flying through it.
The sky never apologizes.

But somewhere out there,
someone sees seven brilliant colors
and finds offense
hiding in the sparkle.

Imagine seeing someone shine
and calling it too much.

Imagine deciding another person's joy
has crossed an imaginary line.

The rainbow says nothing.

It hangs there,
refusing debate,
refusing permission,
wearing every color
with the defiance of breath.

People have wrapped it
around shoulders,
around marches,
around love that survived
slammed doors,
broken ribs,
blood on fence posts.

Some call that sin.

Say love
is only holy
when it looks like theirs.

The rainbow keeps arriving.

Not because it wants
to win an argument,
but because it never agreed
to be only one thing.