I only work in extremes.
I am either all in or all out.
The colors of my vibrant being will never learn of something called "grey space."
But I'm forced to drain myself of those colors
because people can't handle them all at once.
They can't deal with me.
I either feel too much,
or laugh too long,
or live so fully that I'm told to stop,
To straighten up,
to shut up, and assimilate
and keep myself covered by a somber canvas.
What's wrong with a little life? A little change?
That's a lesson I've had to etch into my mind
a thousand times,
and I'm still learning.
For months and years I've kept myself
hidden and concealed behind my fears.
For years and months more I've cowered.
Behind a pallid canvas I've masked everything,
everything that makes up the palette with which I paint my life.
Letting go is not a luxury I have yet,
Someday I'll be able to paint the towns
in rich, effervescent colors
without having to worry about the cover that wants to hide them.
No longer will I veil my eyes when they glow green in high spirits.
I'll refuse to suppress my golden happiness when I feel the urge to dance.
And when my face burns red from love's caress,
I will sing about how my heart is finally full.
Someday, I'll paint these colors for them,
and maybe then they will see
that life is too wonderful to be filled with