My insecurity has colour.
It is yellow.
I wipe the sides of my mouth,
After the burning sensation has stopped.
My breathing goes back to normal.
Then out comes more.
The panting begins, and I slouch to the floor,
With the coldness entering me.
Tears descend
Burning my reddish face,
Such a contrast to the yellow.
My insecurity has colour.
It is yellow.
Yellow enough to make me despise daffodils,
So when he surprised me with flowers,
I was sick to my stomach – literally.
He didn’t understand what he had done,
How could I explain,
That my insecurity has colour?
It is yellow.
Haringey Unchained 