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Prism
There are many colors of feeling hollow-of emptiness
There are bright blooming reds, born out of pain and revenge
Pastel pinks are the b*stard children of love and betrayal
There are soft gray-blues, born out of harm by some unseen source that doesn't utter a word
Green is a child of jealousy, distorted vanity and obsession to the point of losing yourself
Yellows are born from the loss of time, not exactly joyous
Acid-colored oranges come from addiction, a sense of pleasure drowned in confusion
The brown-gray color of cigar ash on skin is literally born generation to generation
Bruised purples come from repetitive betrayals after being hit in the same place
At some point, the hollow became gray and black to most
A monotone lost somewhere inside a crystal reflected too many times
Not exactly consistent with just one, but possibly every different type of light
There are many colors of feeling hollow
I haven't quite found mine in the prism yet
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This poem itself came about to me as I watched a local theatre production, sitting with those I care about, not one of them my blood family. In that moment I was hot with everything that got us to that moment, joyous and glad, and realized that we had all been hollowed out in some tragic yet beautiful way, how the emotion itself is too complex to describe at times. And thus, this poem was born. Thank you, the reader, so much for witnessing my small slice of a whole emotion.
-A grateful Oni