Shades of Blue

Blue.

A color that has stayed at the top of my list for quite some time.

If I am a brush in which you paint with, I would have a pallet that consists of blue.

Since childhood I longed to see it, but what I never understood was the subtlety of its definition. That explanation scared me and had followed me everywhere I went. It started on an Easter Sunday when the structure of my household was shaken with a scream, slap, and tears that streamed down my face into the cushions of the couch that never lasted long. The screams that were muffled by a thin door hanging on the thin walls of our house were sourced to my mother. She set themselves away from us so that she didn’t scare my brother or me. The slap that seemed to sting my cheek, even if I wasn’t the physical recipient, landed on my mother by the relentless strength of the man that brought me into the world. It’s hard to call him something he never was to me, a father. Tears, gathered by the gallon, had streamed down our faces as we replayed those short moments in our head. Mother continued to say, after that horrific day, that God would have his way in this situation. If that were the case, why isn’t he dead, hurting, or at least punished? Why didn’t you do your job? Why didn’t you stop him?

Blue. A color that followed me from the green house in the center of town, to the red middle school that I attended in the north side. For a state that is known to be racially diverse, or a melting pot, I saw a lot of white and blonde. If it didn’t seem bad at first, it’s because they didn’t know me yet. They hadn’t experienced how I handled interactions. Soon, blue was all that I was and felt. Other than bruises that were left throbbing on my body and the blood that streamed from my lips and nose, I seemed to be, by any definition, fine. I looked like a crime scene, and the only thing missing was the dead body that they left one ounce of life in. Praise God for adults that are willing to not overlook the tragedies that happen in the halls. Slander is thrown. Fists are caught by anything other than hands that are usually covering the face of the victim. Then, I see more blue as I am directed to a counselor. As if I am not already seen as weak, you want to add to this stereotype that they continue to build for me? Why didn’t you punish them? Why am I the one being dealt with and not them? Do I deserve to be the target of the flying fists? That’s all that I gathered from this. That and another shade of blue. One that makes you sigh. Not out or relief, more of anticipation of the torture to come.

More blue. The darker the shade, the more traumatic the memory. The more painful the scars were when they were inflicted. The more invisible I felt to people I thought would help. I wish that I could say that the color changed from a blue to a green, or a yellow, but it didn’t. Nor will it. I mean, how can a color change unless you expose it to a situation where there is a blend, or unless you change the brush you paint with. You would have to change me, but what you need to realize is that if you were to change me even in the slightest of senses, I wouldn’t be me. My pallet would change and the pictures that you would paint would not be signed with my signature. I would cease to exist.

There wouldn’t be any blue skies. There wouldn’t be blue water that it almost transparent in which people would gawk at the beauty that lies below. There wouldn’t be the color green or purple, if I didn’t exist. ROY would only exist without the G BIV. There wouldn’t be a blue to the blonde girl’s eyes to admire or compare to the sea. So, let me stay me. Let me stay as I am.

Blue. Even if there are circumstance that exhibit the color that I am, where people pass away or terrible things happen. When they leave you at the altar, or when the only man you trust discredits the beauty that lies within you as he only acknowledges your outer appearance. When you finally let your walls crumble from the tough guy facade that you put up all these years.  When things happen and the world wins, I will be blue. When you look up at the sky and admire its beauty or you swim in the beautiful ocean and swim for your life to shore from the grey shark that chases you, I will still be blue. My life will exhibit a blue tone, for better or worse.

 

My color is blue. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

carissas.creations

This is amazing! It sounds like you have been through a lot, but just know you are not alone

Keep fighting and keep being blue! :)

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741