May 14, 2020
She looks away so people cannot see
the tears clinging to her eyelashes.
Her flag is destroyed by hate,
scraps of rainbow-colored fabric scattered about
under people's feet.
She always imagined standing up on a stage but
she never thought it would be like this,
being the subject of humiliation
in the eyes of a disgusted crowd.
Her skin is bruised and battered,
battered and bruised,
from the stone-cold words people tossed at her
without thinking about how badly they hurt.
She thought it would be solved if she just
showed people she was brave,
but they laughed at her and said
she was only looking for attention.
She wishes that is what it is,
that this whole thing is a lie
and she'll go to sleep and emerge a new person.
But her heart keeps betraying her.
Or maybe it is she who is betraying her heart.
She can't tell the difference anymore.
She is curled up on the ground,
hands over eyes because
she doesn't want to see the hate.
In her mind, she sees a flash of color
among the scornful black and white.
She sees someone telling her to be brave because
this is who she is.
She sees acceptance in a far off world,
and she sees that the only way to get there
is to stop hiding.
So,
she stands up,
one
foot
at a time.
Her body is trembling but she barely notices
with the roaring in her ears.
The wind tries to blow her away but she stands her ground.
She succumbs to the rawness of the pain
and turns it into glory.
The crowd jeers at her but
they mean nothing to her now.
She takes a step forward.
Her legs threaten to crumble under her,
but they do not.
She takes another step.
She feels as if she is floating.
No, not floating.
Flying.
The people try to drag her under with them,
but she soars up toward the heavens
and walks above them
toward a world where she can be herself
toward peace
toward equality
toward a world of color and vibrance
and everything else that does not exist here.
Before she enters,
she looks back
at the people below her
and feels nothing but pity for them.
For she realizes that she is not going toward the heavens.
She's going toward life.
She will never miss this place she came from,
this home of vile hate.
She will never miss it because for once,
she will be accepted.
And that is more than she could ask for.
YOU ARE READING
the moonlit side of reality (a poetry collection)
PoetrySometimes, when stories aren't enough, I turn to poems. Sometimes, when I set a pen to paper, magic flows out. Sometimes, when I write poetry, something beautiful happens.
