colored words

It’s the swirling of colors around each word
that brings me back to life,
away from the dredges of a dark room,
lonely heart, and sad soul. 

My father’s words carried slashes of red,
the red of the beer bottles that flew past me
as he hurtled them to the wall – glass breaking –
and when there were no bottles,
there were words that left deep wounds.

My mother’s words were always white and black,
dreaming of a rainbow that she couldn’t quite reach,
like how her smiles never reached her eyes,
as if she could not stop the tears when she blinked.

Your words are tinged with a slight pink,
like the color of the roses outside your porch,
and the color of my cheeks when I talk to you.So when I am in that dark, dark room again,
I dream of you and your pink-tinged words,
remembering how it felt to smile and laugh again.

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