YELLOW I used to believe that as a dark-skinned girl I couldn’t wear yellow. Growing up I felt like I was too dark — and as I got older I started to think I was too large to wear such a bright color. It always felt like it wasn’t appropriate for me to wear. Then I realized how great it looks on darker skin tones. It wasn’t my skin tone or my curves preventing me from wearing the bright hue — I was just afraid to shine.
You create your own decoration. You choose your color, you choose your mood. ... If you are depressed, you put some bright yellow and suddenly you are happy.
And over it all, the butterflies swarmed, like a million yellow-pettalled flowers dancing on swirling winds.
I really just want to be warm yellow light that pours over everyone I love.
they couldn't, somehow, grasp the concept of having to brush your teeth with your wrist slightly deviated for that streak of icing by the edge of your second molar. because they believed that you are partially conjoined to become something you refused to eat. but they said if you count the number of steps you take from the shallows to the deep, you'll realize they aren't less than the bubbles that pop in between your teeth. because we chew a little more than what we can swallow often, but never take foot more than what we can step.
if the birds understand not the concept of the sky, shouldn't we write the wings for other things; that know not to fly?
at a vast scale of individual mirrors lining up in a department store, i could no more count its repetitive visuals than determine the differences each will have to prove its worth of being chosen. they all reflect the same, i'd say. each person, mediating every intuition as the only thing that's possibly visible in front of it. like a yellow flower amidst a garden more of the same, in which the only apparent distinction they have is their place.
when i was small enough to fit in the dog house whose owners haven't drifted to a number no more than two, i could see the yard slowly being emptied with a picking stick and a trash bag of dried leaves. if circumstances are necessary, i'd reason out. being rebellious is in line with skipping classes or hitting a classmate, but not in avoiding chores, isn't it? but that honestly wasn't the main reason when the sun was up and my dad would sit on the porch step, counting to ten. i'd hide nowhere else other than a wooden kennel home with a holed roof, big enough to fit my childhood and a car engine you'll hear in the distance, saying maybe we'll finish the game tomorrow instead. so you'll wake up on your bed whilst falling asleep on the ground, again and again, until the hands that carry you decay faster than an autumn leaf adjacent to its decomposing tree.
"there's food in the fridge," my mom would say whenever i woke up, over and over, until they'd remember what my meals had consumed.