Written 2025-04-30
It rains and on the azure sky its light shows, scatters across the water to reach mine pupils as a continuum of color. Some say at the end lies a chest of riches. Some say it's a beauty. If only such a thing could be said for my rainbow.
Vermillion is associated with power, passion, rage. My vermillion arises from those who don't get to see its wavelength. Too low to be seen by most.
Flaxen is joy, pleasure, amiability. Mine flaxen hair rolling across my back is revered by many, yet the scalp below, my essence, is unseen.
Most argue of my grue; is it green and blue? A mix of disgust and anguish is what they cause.
My violet fades into the sky too; creativity, uniqueness, they're naught but frowned upon in a world reigned upon by rules.
And yet, the chest at the end, it holds the key of acceptance: a change of perspective. The people see my rainbow as another attraction; it's shamed but also romanticised, though in a way that makes it appear more as a fiction. The children disagree, however. They can see it. See through it, see the chest and reach it and open it and grab its fruits. It's the influence of the higher-ups that creates this new point of view. A change of education, of society, is what this chest holds. And yet, much like most else, it's naught but a fairy tale told by the folk through taverns and bars.
It stops raining, and as the rainbow fades to blend in the sky once more, I follow suit.