Sex In Color.
{source}
The water is a deep green,
emerald and dark as night.
The setting sun dances home slowly now,
exuding out a light purple hand
towards the yellow clouds.
Her hair reflects orange oceans.
Fluid and flowing,
don’t forget to pray
in the secret spaces of my mind.
Between black and white
the gray exists.
Between consent and force.
Refusal and acceptance.
Blueberries do not exist here.
Rubies are extinct.
The purples and yellows
do not shine orange.
They vary in shade and shape
appearing depressed and lifeless.
One can only guess the gray away,
shame it until it forgives the truth.
But the gray speaks of stories
of growth and pain and youth.
And the most brilliant trees
and the most beautiful flowers cannot compare
with the dark radiance of gray.
Repressed until now,
she picks up the pieces
and places them in her basket.
She prances them around slowly,
dropping them as placeholders
to remember where she had been before.
Gray knees scraped aqua
with the stains of innocence.
It felt like days mixed with centuries
She knew the shapes were silenced,
and the gray clouds pass by again,
whispering secret songs of surrender.
She knows the truth is always hidden
in the depths of the gray darkness.
So she returns to the beginning.
It looks different than she remembered.
It is painted miraculous colors,
infinitely expansive.
The gray spaces have been filled with a bucket of beauty.
The gray experiences have been replaced with a void of voice.
The gray sex has been overpowered
by the openness of the ocean.
The colors I bring
to the places I travel
know no gray.
*****
Cheyane Reisner is a feminist and animal rights activist. She studies the interrelation of gender and government and believes in the power of words and language as medicinal healing for the earth and the skies. You can find her on Facebook.
Comments
Latest posts by Rebelle Society (see all)
- Cemetery of Tears. - April 26, 2024
- My Identity Journey: What’s in a Name? - April 26, 2024
- Cyprus: A Magic Place That Feels Like Home. - April 26, 2024