We learned about colors in school.
Blue for the sky,
Green for an apple,
Yellow for the sun you see up high.

A boy told me of another color.
One that defined me.
I have never heard of it,
but it made me feel uncanny.

I told my mom of this color
and how that color was me.
She told me that it didn’t matter,
but sadness in her eyes, I could see.

The next day we learned of a new color.
Brown for the color of dirt.
The boy said both colors were me,
and the words he said hurt

He told me I was the color of dirt,
therefore that’s what I am.
I didn’t believe him at first,
and to cry, I began.

When I went to Mom and Dad,
and saw that they were not
the same color I was,
I became very distraught.

They were pale and elegant.
Like light powdery snow.
And I was dark and dirty.
Like the ugly mud I know.

I began to believe the boy's story
that I was only but a color.
And soon the pain had gotten to me.
My insides turned sour.

I screamed to know who I am
and who will I become
if a color is what defines me.
Society had surely won.

When I looked around me,
I saw that I was the only one
that had resembled dirt.
The love for myself I had was none.

I was the color of dirt,
therefore that’s what I am.
At least that’s what I believed,
until someone grabbed my hand.

That someone pulled me from the dirt
And simply brushed me off.
They told me to stop crying
with a funny little scoff.

They took my hand and told me
that what the boy said isn’t true.
I am not just a color,
“No more than I am you.”