When I first arrived here

I brought with me

a rough transparent hunk of stone

 

I held it out at all times

For the world to see

And when light shined onto it

It would illuminate a soft white

 

White

The color of my fist smile

 

As my visit here progressed

I have gone through many chapters of a book called "My Life"

 

Sometimes

I reflect on chapters I've read

The past events of my life

That has carved my hunk of stone

Into a peculiar prism

 

A prism that no longer illuminates white

When light graces it

But illuminates fantastic hues

Of red of blue of yellow

And of orange, green, and purple

 

I keep my prism safe in a black box

that has manifested from fear

Of rejection and of judgement

 

I keep my prism 

in a black box so light won't reach it

I keep it there 

so the world won't see it

 

Because 

the book I've been reading

Has made me believe so far

That the world will never understand

My true colors