Hour Ten, Color

Fade to Black

“What’s your favorite color?”
an early boyfriend asked, perhaps
thinking of flowers to match
my favorite, a romantic notion
my truthful answer swiftly
nipped in the bud: “Black.”

Evolving from thrashing punk days,
mosh pit rock and grunge days,
emo goth days, and finally
soul sustaining blues,
black saw me through my style,
my mood, my life, colorless and fading

into adult depression and weight gain.
Not wishing for pity, I laughed it off,
pain masked to others that asked why
when I winked and told them “Don’t you
know black is this fat girl’s friend?”

The advent of children brought me
partially back to life, and black remained
my choice, spills, scrapes, messes
all masked by clothes in my forgiving black.

Healthy again, black still is my favorite,
the color that never fails to fulfill, a friend
enfolding me in warm, somewhat threadbare,
arms, as my life begins the slow winding
down, one day fading to the final, welcoming black.

4 thoughts on “Hour Ten, Color

  1. My dear, dear Tracy, I so appreciate all of the raw-honest work you do. I always felt that my stuff was too much for people; that no one wanted the real story. Your work inspired me to just say what needed to be said. Thank you so much. I am truly a fan. :*

  2. Thanks so much, Ramona, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I’ve often wondered the same, if what I write is just too much, but lately I’ve gotten to a point in life where I figure that the truth should be put out there just the same. Not only does it release some of the pain for me and allow me to move on, but there are also so many people that tell me they’ve felt or experienced what I write about and feel better themselves knowing they’re not alone.

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