Red—Listening to my drunken step-father yell
Being so angry, but having no one to tell
Yellow—being too afraid to runaway
Who would I go to, where would I stay
Green—Watching perfect families with perfect smiles
So carefree, why was I given these trials
Blue—The sadness, a deep well
The story I can’t tell
White—the emptiness of my life
The pain of the knife
Black—a dark cloud’s snare
A waking nightmare
Colors—swirling deep inside
Let me know I’m still alive
In shadow and street light
Colors—my story at last told
My fear gone, finally bold
This was one of my favorites to write. Both because I dabble with painting and because I could relate to the intense emotions portrayed here all throughout my childhood. While I chose to let my feelings spill out on canvases that were in my possession, I can’t entirely fault people who find some sort of release in adding some color to a wall, even if that wall isn’t their own.
I don’t exactly condone it–I think people should respect other’s property–but I can empathize with the need to feel alive when inside feels dead and the need to create when everything around you seems grey.
Because graffiti ironically is done in a grimy alleyway or on a dingy train car, it is a perfect symbol for turning an ugly situation into something bright.
Just my thoughts…:)
What do you think of my poem? Do you think people should be allowed to put graffiti on things? Did you ever sneak out and spray paint a wall?