My true colors are beautiful.
You fell in love with these colors to begin with.
What happened is that I became gray; and you were fine with that.
I lit up again and became something beautiful
This time, you didn’t have control over it.
This light isn’t shining in your direction; you can’t handle it.
And you’re trying to make me feel guilty for it.
Story behind the poem:
I was told that my true colors are showing. That he’s done and ready for it to all be over. That I showed my true colors and he’s done with me, all of it. I’m “disrespectful”. I cried not knowing what he meant. I believed it was some sort of insult revealing that I’m the terrible person that I’m scared I am. Gaslighting at its finest. My true colors ARE showing, and they’re fucking beautiful!
I’m using my voice, and he is unfamiliar with its true power. It’s threatening and louder than before and can’t be ignored, because I’ve discovered a new way of speaking my truth. Using my voice isn’t being loud. It isn’t yelling in an argument entertaining deaf ears. It’s using my quiet, calculated motions to speak for me and move barriers that once ricocheted my loudness knocking me backwards.
I’m imaging my previous self yelling at a brick wall. It’s unmoving, and I cry as my words fall to the ground and splash into puddles of tears. Now, I close my eyes and envision placing my hand on this wall, and walking through as it crumbles around me in the fragile nature it’s been hiding. It’s scary and feels dangerous to keep moving forward. I am stronger than I allowed myself to believe. My true colors move me. I will not apologize for them.
Written April 19, 2021