I see you.
Everything you do has a new lens to it.
Blue.
I see you, gently prying the blueberry bush’s baby from its passionate fingers, trying not to spill a single drop of blue blood.
Yellow.
I see you, as you light up, yellow rain boots defying the black clouds rolling in, optimism splashing others as you take the first jump.
Purple.
I see you gaze at the lights behind your eyes, scrunched up so tight when you want to burst but are locked under the rule of your weaknesses, the purple phosphenes- fireworks- acting in ways you can’t.
Orange.
I see you glowing, recapturing the sun in every orange you take and try to eat with just a straw, the juice filling up your eyes until the tears spill into your smile, melting into- you.
Pink.
I see you, your bubblegum pastels soft and fluffy, fragile chalk that threatens to melt away in spring’s tears- even you surprise yourself that wet chalk can make art too, a beautiful, vibrant paint.
Green.
I see you chasing through the grass the little ants and beetles, the ladybugs whose eyes you only want to catch so you can gaze into their lovely souls.
Black.
I see you comforted in the night stars, wondering how a world so beautiful can be lost in the bustle of the sun when it draws its curtains, unveiling the silent stage. You want it to be shown in all its blackness, but they scream for light, beautiful. revealing, light.
My Invisible Prism
Gina Nored, 12
Red.
I see you involuntarily sketch splotches of red on your cheeks when you can’t hold it in anymore, your anger, your sadness, (or was it sleep deprivation from reading till 3?), outlining a new figure, the one hidden within you that mourns for every lost word, every broken beetle wing, every forgotten fairy, every child that never had the magic of words placed into her untrained hands, bound to make mistakes and turn them into miracles.
Brown.
I see you dig yourself into a hole, surrounded by the chilling softness of the dirt, a blanket that won’t ever frighten you, no eyes to stare at you, what you fear so much even though they’re just staring at a beauty they can never grasp, can never contain, can never discover the truth of because you hide behind your comforting veil.
White.
I see you- I think. I’m not sure how you’re white. But of no consequence, because you see the white in me. You see the white in every angry teacher, every violent policeman, every piece of misunderstood art- you only see a tired wife, a heartbroken widower, a confused child wandering and hoping for something to make sense in the world.
You,
My Invisible Prism.
I see your colors- but they only see the glass and think there’s nothing in you, that you’re just reflecting what’s already been said. But no. I know better after a childhood with you. You’re the mechanism by which people see the light. They see beauty in the world because you shine the light on it, in every shade imaginable.
Keep on shining.