We clench our lights in closed palms,

afraid to show our colors—

afraid we’ll shine too bright—

so we cling so tight,

to our gray cloaks—

our first birthday gifts.

The world wants to mold—

not teach—

drawing you into the dark

where only your shadow

—your simplified silhouette—

remains:

conform, it says,

play your part, it says,

your role was cast by

norms

before you were born.

So let out your light—

show your flames

and wash the shadows away

from the others like you

—and cast the world in color.

Make the shade-sowers

shield their eyes.

If we all shine bright,

if you shine bright,

if I shine bright

perhaps they’ll go blind.