I'm purple.
My every thought I think and everything I do when it's just me is purple. My actions and myself, the person that I am when no one can see is purple. I'm warm violet and lavender and there's no one I'd rather be, but when I'm around them it's simply not what they see.
I'm not the updates that I write or the tears that I cry, I'm not the words that I speak or who I am when they're with me. I'm the person that I am when it's simply myself, I'm not even the entries that I keep on my shelf.
How interesting it would be if they began to know. I wonder what they'd say about the girl that I don't show. But they've filled the gaps with their own interpretations. I almost find it funny when I hear their false translations.
Occasionally they see a bit of purple, but it only makes me sick. Doing it to the wrong people seems to be my trick. Even if they're the right ones they only seem to misinterpret me more. It's almost silly how authenticity has become such a chore.
But there's a girl who sees my colors and loves me anyway. Together we wear our colors, and we're happiest that way. I don't see her often, but with her I am free. And I wonder if it were this way with all my friends, would I always feel at peace?
I paint myself in purple, it's my integrity. It's the color of my happiness, the core of my beliefs. I try to show them my colors, but they change when they're near. I've tried to understand it, perhaps it's simply fear. Any hopes I have of them understanding always seems to sink.
For when they look in my direction, I know they all see pink.
YOU ARE READING
Quiver
Poetrya place where I've written my feelings when I felt them. it has become a story of depression and recovery, love and loss, hope and fear, and everything in-between. mostly poetry, sometimes stories. :)
