Eyes See What I See
Lips Who Am I?
Ear Find My Work
What’s Your Mood? What’s Your Mood?
CONNECT Talk to Me
Motley Hues



when they described the ocean as sea-green, I choked.

granted it is complex, like an orgy of indigo and lavender and cerulean

but who had the time to list the differences between their and my blue?

they asked after my distractions and I pointed to the sky,

which they described again as purple.

I spat off the cliff.

they handed me a white tissue, I turned it yellow, pushed it under their nose and said,

‘this is sea-green.’

they offered to take me home. the roads were unpaved, brown.

I’ve seen many beautiful things that are brown—parents’ eyes, dog’s fur, chocolate ice cream. it hurt when all those things I remembered looked parched down the highway.

their own skin was brown, like mine, and we were all parched.

we stopped for water. I forbid them from calling it colorless.

they crossed their fingers to their heart.

I drank a few sips, became less roasty. they called me honey.

I felt lighter so I smiled. when they held my hands we blended.

under the sky again—now burning—I forgot the browns and the glitters of liquid crystal.

I glazed out the window in a pink stare, which they called hollow.

I didn’t mind, I didn’t think ‘hollow’ was relative.

every cloud was pink lips in brown lipstick, parched for a kiss.

if it rained, I wondered what color they’d call it. I didn’t think even I knew.