As we breathe in the air of the indigo sky,
Our noses fill with the scents of fresh flowers.
Wisteria, pink carnations, and vivid violets
Are indigenous to the purple mountains
That inspire our creativity.
As the sky turns midnight blue,
The wind increases in strength.
It wraps around our legs like denim,
And fills our mouths with natural confections.
Electric limes, atomic tangerines, and laser lemons
Tickle our taste buds pink.
Suddenly, our eyes, brown, green, and blue in hue,
Become blinded by the white robes
Worn by the oppressors.
Why must the ones with black hearts
Try to stifle the imagination
And impale us so that our individuality
Meanders outside our veins?
The answer is not important, for we must not fear them.
Their gray matter is no match
For the gold manufactured in our minds.
If they brand us with “The Scarlet T”
That labels us as troublemakers,
We shall wear it as a badge that honors us as thinkers.
Our polychromaticism will be as sturdy as a red brick wall,
And our victory will be far from bittersweet.

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