A Rainbow, but Without the Promise
by Olivia Johnson
It’s red
The blood is red and the bruise is black and blue and red
It’s red
And I have a thousand tiny holes on my fingers like a thousand tiny bee stings
Except a bee doesn’t die, I do just a little more with each prick
I am a mosaic on a wall
I am blue and black and red and my tears are crystal clear
I am color thrown together
I am holes and nooks and crannies that this illness seeps into
I am tiles smashed and sharp edges
I am a mosaic on a wall for everyone to gawk at
I am artwork that was not meant to be
I am blue and black and red all over
I am the beginning of a joke with no punchline
I am purple where the bruises heal
I am yellow where they’re almost gone
I am polka dotted and striped both at the same time
I am clashing colors and patterns
I am red and I don’t even like red