Color Blind

my vision has been
black and white for so long,
each day a gray grind
the coffee bitter,
the love dull.
the faces are as familiar
as skin peeling.

i’ve learned to navigate
the shadows,
the comfort of monotone
where chaos is contained,
where feeling is suppressed
like a whistle muted
under thick layers of silence.

i watch the world bleed,
a rainbow begging to splatter
against my walls,
but the thought of color
feels like a betrayal
to the routine, the numbness
i’ve cradled like a neglected child.

what if the blues
drown me,
or the reds burn,
carve their way
into the delicate mist
of my carefully
crafted gray?

on cold mornings,
the sun struggles to break
through the fog
that hangs in my heart
and i wonder,
would i recognize joy
if it knocked on my door
in a bright orange hue?
could i taste passion,
stir it within,
or would it feel like too much
too foreign,
too loud
in my black and white world?

i cling to the edges of plainness
where safety wraps around me
like an old coat,
the texture worn down, soft.
but my hands tremble
at the thought
of a sunset, an alarm,
a scream of life
that pulls me towards something
i can’t yet grasp,
beyond the pencil strokes
of everyday survival.

i'm afraid i won’t know how
to breathe
in a world where colors sing,
a fluorescent madness
that dances
around my heart,
dims the edges
of the monochrome
i’ve come to know
and find contentment in.