Categories
Poetry

Eyes that only see color

Day 8 Prompt : White

Confession: By the age of 7, I was considered legally blind and couldn’t attend school without wearing thick, correctional lenses. I could barely make out shapes, let alone letters or signs.

Colors became my guides. Likes beacons, they guided me through the fog and haze that clouded my childhood.

I discovered I could see someone’s auras when I started seeing colors hovering around people. I thought everyone could see them, but no one would know what the hell I was talking about. I still practice the skill and will stare off and focus on seeing auras every now and then.

White is not the absence
of color. To me, it is a beacon.
A signal to stop walking on
the fuzzy black, to wait

for the blinking orange, stuttering
greens. Avoid the rushing
blurs of metallic blacks
and blues. When you

are born with eyes that
only see color, you don’t
see blemishes on skin,
can’t tell between fat

and slim, Mexican or
Guatemalan, a grimace from a smile.
Skin tones blend together
from afar. When you

are born with eyes that
only see color, you live
in a chaos of shades, squares
of mahogany and crimson, jabbing

into an immense turquoise,
amber triangles
floating on a bed of
pines, when you

are born with eyes that
only see color, they come
alive, become your allies, Reds
are sirens, loud and obnoxious.

Beiges are moody, sarcastic,
yellows hopped on sugar,
greens are your best friends. Grey

are self-medicated, orange never
shuts up about being orange, blues
defend you from the neon pinks,
indigos are your soul mate. When you,

are born with eyes that
only see color, you thirst for
clarity, an outline without needing
to squint, a perfect shape. When you,

are born with eyes that
only see color, you ignore
imperfections and focus on
the color of their soul.

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