We trust blackness because it seems more real than color.
We learn to fear sadness, and we are told that states of emotional ailment
Induce sadness,
To fear them, is to be without them.
When I was little I did not know what it meant to be without fear.
I felt the weight of a life that wasn’t my own
I felt fear, but I felt the wrong kind of fear
The fear that burned like a Blue flame in my chest and struck a Scarlet pain in my head
The fear that who I was born into was not who I was born to be
The fear that I had no escape and that the treachery of a misled life would lead
To color
But how could it be? The orchestrators in the sky shrouded color
Because it was not meant to exist
Only blackness
So why were my insides painted Blues and sweet Violets?
Why was my rage the color of fresh blood,
And my joy as Yellow and bright as the summer?
My love was never black, my pain was never black,
And I was afraid because I had been leading a fallacious existence
Because everything
And everyone
Lived in blackness
Until I looked up into the holographic sky
With its holographic color
And I reached up and grabbed something that was unknown yet enticing.
In fear, my omnipresent fear,
I pressed it to my chest with Red-hot ardor, and I fell to my knees
Purple lightning flashed through my body
A dark, but not black, earthquake followed briefly afterwards,
Forcing me completely to the ground
Pale Grey aftershock rang in my ears
Colored noise forced the blackness into a neighboring universe
The sky yelled, “blasphemy!” In a terrified shock and distress,
And the color disregarded the accusation—
As totally futile
And my soul sang, and it sang, and it sang
Effusive hymns
Of color.
Accompanying Photo: “Untitled” By Liora Meyer
Join the conversation!
