The leaves are soaked by the sun.
We are open.
I forgot what words tasted like.
What are rainbows?
Are they our imagination
Are the colors our lives?
If they are our lives,
Then I must be indigo.
I thought back to childhood.
Couldn’t remember what colors ever made a difference.
Red was too deep of a passion,
Green too dedicated to greed,
And if any other color matched these feelings,
The feeling of the median,
A division of harmony and lust.
Never exactly blue or purple.
In between my madness and love,
Must Indigo be my battlefield
Or demise.
About the Creator
Olivia Rose
Hey everyone! Current MFA student in Pittsburgh, hoping to drink Chamomile tea and share my life. There’s enough to be said by someone whose black, queer, and a woman.
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Human nature convinced me that I was supposed to like something. I had to find a chance to interpret that. Going through the loops of memories, when did I ever discover being bisexual? Was it from that pretty girl in fifth grade that always smiled at me? Maybe she was just really pretty and I was overthinking again.
By Olivia Rose6 years ago in Filthy
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