and you cross stitch a tapestry of your life together, yet-
you seem to leave out the same three colors every time.
you crotchet blankets and scarves of your identity
but the spindles never brush against reality,
never go deeper than some vacuous facade.
you sew and sew so you may bleed your veins
of chromosomes wrapped in beautiful histone
packages, yet is your heritage and being hereditary
all that you are? you are the lapis waves of the ocean,
crashing down on sandy shores and breaking
your brittle bones just to catch her smile.
you are the mauve flowers blossoming in the spring,
because april's tears let empathy bloom wild
and may never tasted like honeysuckle buds
but newly fresh violets exploding in emotion
and felt like her lavender lips brushing against your cheek.
and you are the blushing rose petals she hides in coffee-
stained book pages because you all are so ashamed
(why are you all so ashamed?). no, you redact-
she is proud and drapes rainbow tapestries
across her chest, like she did when she said
“I love you” and you did (love her, that is), but
the world is monochrome, you are monochrome
and your flowers wilt to ebony, your petals fade
to ivory, and you are afraid, darling, that you will
never spin a tapestry as colorful as hers.
you are bound by your strings, and they string you
charcoal, creme, onyx, silver, and never
cobalt, violet, peach, cerulean, lilac, rose.
but maybe, darling, maybe one day you might spin
a tapestry coated with colors, and you will bind
the world by your own strings and not yourself by its.
and they will be forced to see you, accept you,
and you will be forced to face yourself, accept yourself,
and have pride.
Happy pride month? And yeah, my colors are a little out of order, but I thought it flowed better that way.