When I was a little girl, I had a rainbow room.
As far as I’m concerned, the little rainbow room was full of magic.
It had a mirror and a window.
When it was sunny out, I would lie on the floor and watch the mirror throw colors around the room.
I am like that mirror.
I wear my heart like a meticulously made, constantly changing, multi-colored dress.
You can see straight through me, like a window that was just cleaned with streak-free Windex.
My thoughts spill out of my head,
vase your mother
used to never let you touch.
My emotions scatter everywhere, like shards of glass outside an abandoned gas station.
I am glass.
Brittle and breakable, but I am real and full of colors of the rainbow.