What if I were a rainbow?

What if I were a rainbow?

A collection of Roy G. Biv?

Such colors would bestow

Pure wonder — or, perhaps, misgive.

At the center is a bloody pear.

Each minute, it pumps six quarts.

It sustains life with helpful air,

but love – it shops for, then imports,

Seldom verifying the attached strings,

Making oh so likely a heartbreak.

See, we’re weak, feeble little things,

With all our worth at stake.

You’d think me condemned to death,

If someone deems me a whore,

But it’s the very source of life

That remains my source of gore.

Being safe is logical,

An idea that fear imprints.

Usain Bolt would ne'er deem comical

A race he'd run with shin splints.

But forget to run at all

And a whole new consequence:

I've lived my life so small,

Forgetting to pursue confidence.

Risk is never 0%,

There’s always at least some chance.

Just like how I, 100%,

Never learned the Orange Justice dance

Or much about any justice

In this bright light of day.

For retribution is lustrous

Yet very, very far away.

I had my chance to battle,

To stand up for what I believe,

But “defend” was reduced to “tattle,”

And my faith in law deceived.

Optimism became my shield.

So quick to hide behind a smile.

‘Cause when that armor was unsealed,

I was not ready to be reviled.

I seldom leave my skin exposed,

Nor do I tan or soak up the sun,

But without a gate that’s ever closed,

I’m no good to anyone.

With the support of the forest

And the tickling of the grass,

I’ll hold you close, by your wrist,

Our souls invited to trespass.

A world with a “we,”

Keeps me so much less afraid,

Even if that same world left me

Brainwashed and betrayed.

Labels are so restrictive —

They seldom let us bend,

But humanity is addictive,

As are your eyes, my friend.

It’s my heart that never wavers,

Even as I wish for nine lives

Or a redo sans enslavers…

'Cause I know my innocence survives,

Despite the drowning loss of air

From that massive smack.

Forgotten is the where,

Amidst the overwhelming black.

That abyss within

Can seem to inundate,

And without a when,

Comes a death worse than fate.

A painful lack of knowledge

Of myself or my self-worth.

A pure emotional blockage

That I can’t seem to unearth…

And if I should become vindictive,

It’s only because I cannot quantify

These emotions, somehow so expansive,

Much like sea against the sky.

How did “star” come to mean

The bright center of attention?

When so many stars are seen,

But scarce is comprehension.

I seldom comprehend myself,

Much less "the heteronormative plan."

That recipe on the shelf?

It’s about the person, not the pan.

Pansexuality is not unique,

It’s the quality of the masses.

We just deny our own mystique,

To fit within our social classes.

The social groupings we create

Make us think we are needed.

The problem is that we don’t wait

To see we might have conceded.

Our ideals remain a dream,

Much like that faraway star.

A constant swim upstream,

Just to measure who we are.

The Queen might wear a violet suit,

So bright and sure of her own power,

While we remain, the destitute,

Burdened to bloom a fragile flower.

See, power corrupts us all,

And me, I have but one desire,

To be anything but banal,

Only open, truthful, a survivor.

I’m sure it’s no coincidence

That violent and violet are but a letter apart.

Much the way it’s dissidence

Just to think with one’s own heart.

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