In my medicine cabinet,
the things the help are orange:
acne soap, lotions, eye glass cleaners.
Things that suppress are blue:
NyQuil, nasal strips, mouth wash.
Pink things are tools for beauty:
cotton pads, nail polish remover, perfume.
These colors are flipped in my room.
My lamp is pink, like the walls that enclose me.
My sheets and curtains are blue and block the world from sneaking in at night.
There are no orange things.
the sky is blue sometimes, like men, oxygen-filled and carries the weight of the orange sun.
Pink flowers typically enhance beauty.
Everything in this world is not color correspondent.
Pink does not always mean female,
Blue does not always mean male.
Rainbows are not enslaved to queer folk.
This trinary only applies to things that are not complex enough for spectrums or intersectionalities.
Contrary to popular belief, gender is not pink or blue or vice versa.
Gender is a spectrum, mixed with complimentary colors.
Not a grey scale from light femininity to darkened masculinity.
New colors are made everyday by mixing, and extracting personal characteristics.
THE ARTIST IS THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN NAME THEIR COLOR.
Although too many people think they’ve discovered all of the colors, just because they’ve looked in their medicine cabinets.
Just because they’ve seen the outside world, they think they know the colors.
If I ever decided to have off-spring, their nursery will be painted in all custom colors:
To my queer child
Darling, do not allow your mind to dictate you.
Inside influences will tell you that you aren’t allow to exist.
Do not listen to them like I almost did.
Ignore the colors around you.
Instead of a gun, take a pen to your hand, and let your heart pour bullets to the page.
Write the synopia red-morbid things, write about the black olive world around you, write what goes through your minds.
Never conform to the point of dysphoria.
It only results in displaced self-loathing.
I feel that it’s only a matter of time before your Carolina-blue tears waterfall over your pillow.
Your rapids will sweep you away into a world of shades you’ve never seen before.
Don’t stop here, you will find your self stuck cycling somewhere that makes you feel like a stranger.
But just remember to find the colors that make you feel good.
Also, I have more poems at bucketsaurusrex.wordpress.com