• I hang the world inside out by its tips of black and gray,
    the color of our world drifts, exposed to the toxic astro-rain.
    A trip to the market is nothing more to them,
    but purchasing your boring fruits like Apples and bananas.
    But what about a tangerine?

    In the lens of an old camera, I am a lone speck of indigo,
    swabbing through the immense crowds of black and white.
    My feet heave behind me,
    and rivers of colors brush on the ground from my heels.
    I stain the earth with my difference,
    leaving my mottled mark on the world.

    I wear shackles laced with multihued crayon papers,
    and bits of painted tea cups.
    I wear red and green wax candles in my hair,
    and the fire is a rose, representing the beauty in difference.
    I wear teddy bears on my necklaces,
    and the only thing that can ease the hunger of my golden stomach,
    would be ice-cream and birthday cake.
    Fresh from the piñata broken in the kitchen.

    I wear my socks on my hands,
    and use the autumn leaves as hats.
    Everything I touch turns into a vast rainbow of perpetual color.
    I lick the air, and the sky turns blue over the mass of dying gray.

    And the world dissolves,
    into a portrait of water color paint around me.
    How did the world become equated with the same routine?
    They wake up in the morning,
    follow the crowed,
    then go to sleep to repeat it again.

    Then finally they come to a rude awakening,
    when they fall out of the sky and crash onto the floor,
    like spilt milk from a gray cow,
    they bleed into nothing.

    Dear love,
    You were made to dance.
    kiss our stars,
    and capture the moon in your eyes.
    Live in the night,
    and bid the sun good-bye.
    Paint the curtains of our world.
    Seize the Day.
    Embrace Difference.