by M. Fletcher
Written as spoken word poetry. A look into mine and my late husbands failed relationship.
|The colors of the rainbow makeup some of the most beautiful scenes. From vibrant sunsets to clear water oceans, colors endlessly describe what words can’t. For us though, they painted a very different picture.
White was my face when you pulled our daughter from my arms and told me not to use her as a human shield. It felt like chalk in my mouth. White was your knuckles when you balled up your fists in anger. You only charged at me once. I stood firm and said “I dare you.” Ironic how that came after I already had a black eye. White felt like being empty when everything you value about yourself is degraded into dirt on the floor. Picking up the pieces feels like picking up glass after that.
Red was the marks on my wrist and my chest that I explained away saying “I deserve it” six months ago and that wasn’t even the first time. Red was the overwhelming pain in my head and ringing in my ears as I laid on the bathroom floor. It’s so loud that I could barely hear myself frantically begging you, screaming at you to get away from me. Red was my eyes three hours later because I still hadn’t stopped crying.
Blue was the stone in my favorite ring that you took saying I didn’t deserve to wear it. It’s the goose egg on my temple before it became the black eye I was hoping wouldn’t show. It’s the silent depression I lived in not knowing where to go or what to do. Wasn’t I too strong to be treated this way? Blue is the color hair I used to desperately try to cover what you had done. I remember you screamed “Did I hit you?” My bangs were dark enough to match my bruises in shade, but weren’t long enough to cover them or the shame of lying to everyone about what happened.
Yellow is something I was never too familiar with. It’s supposed to be happiness and sunshine. Instead, it’s the nasty shadow around my bruises when you asked me if you could come back. Did you forget that you were the one that left? The more the yellow faded, the more you called, texted, begged for me to let you back in. “I’ll give up everything” you pleaded. You already gave up everything when you left. Yellow is the sunshine I felt on my face when I told you no. The power I gained back was almost golden.
Gray is the moment I got the phone call. Your mother’s voice breaking on the other end. It’s the text message I missed because I was asleep. Maybe it was meant to happen that way. Gray is the uneasiness I felt, teetering between the pain of losing you and the possibility of finally finding myself.
I’m regaining my color in all this. Red is once again the color of roses. I wear blue dresses to match my eyes. The paper I use to tell our story is white, I just wish our colors were brighter.