The rainbows in my eyes divide us

He was a she in his eyes
A she to be taunted and teased
Just because he couldn’t be a he
Whose being he is being mean
He was a nobody in somebody’s eyes
A nobody to be taunted and teased
Just because he couldn’t be a somebody
Whose being somebody is being like everybody
He was an outcast in their eyes
An outcast to be taunted and teased
Just because he couldn’t be like them
Whose being them is to taunt and tease

For what is it with names
That bind our ever flowing spirits?
For what is it with groups
That tie us against each other?
For what is it with differences
That in different ways we all share?
For what it is with labels
Which in one chokes us in a handcrafted noose
But in many may break us
Or set us to flow upon each other
Like the memories that flow
Through our eyes
When we see each other.

This is happiness.
A cassette tape repeated
Played by the machine
Gathering together
With a single person to fix it
When it all unwinds and loosens.

This is happiness.
A television replay
Of a musical where friends
In different colors and faces
And words have fun together.
But when they are together
Are they really different.
Or are they forcing someone
To be completely different.

This is happiness.
The opportunity to shut it down
To walk out and enjoy the seasons
To listen to the tales your family speaks
To read a book, to write one
Or to enjoy the things you usually do.

We are born in a document
Of many words pieced together.
We are part of the same, many sames
But in each we are different.
And in this differences we divide the line
Even when there is no line to be drawn
Or to be divided.
Words are our origins.
And so we are comforted
When they reinforce who we are
And shattered
When they reject us
Into the void
Where we came
Which we are told to avoid

This is what we were taught:
People with similarities gather together
People with differences may also gather together
People with either may keep anybody out
People with either may not keep anyone, not even themselves, in.

But this is what we do not recognize:
In the paper we call our birth
Replace one word with another
And let that be your being.
That being other people live.
That being other people suffer for.
That being other people wish to have.
That being other people wish to get away from.

Who you are is based from who is around you
Who have been with you
Who have avoided you
Who knew you, respected you
Thought you belong
Thought you are far from belonging.
But alone, who would you be
Would you be from the limit of your memory?
Because in the memory of the world
Where yours are only part
In your difference you should be the same
To every one of us.
But yet you refuse
You break that line of sight
And choose that single color
Over others
Simply because it is your favorite.

Isn’t it that when a rainbow appears
We all go out and look in awe?
They are all made up of words we made,
breaking up a single streak of light
Into many shades of itself.
But the words we made for ourselves
Lined together in a rainbow,
Would we be in awe as well?

For this prompt:

Every city and town contains people of different classes: rich, poor, and somewhere in between. What’s it like where you live? If it’s difficult for you to discern and describe the different types of classes in your locale, describe what it was like where you grew up — was it swimming pools and movie stars, industrial and working class, somewhere in between or something completely different?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us SOCIETY.

Society is a rainbow.


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