Special

Yesterday, when I was cleaning my room
I found some gift cards with some money on them
Never used them, I guess.

I ordered Sappho, Akhmatova,
and an urban fantasy novel.

Books take me away from being strange.
People who are ordinary fight for their moment in that light,
expecting it to be warm and make them feel special
but it doesn't.
It's blaring and bright green,
it gets in their eyes and makes them stick out in a black-and-white world
and they toss away whatever is different about them
and return to being colorless with a relieved sigh.

I have always been in that light,
but that light welcomes me.
It is not green for me, it is gold
gold like the paint on my wrinkle-less lips
it envelopes me,
and I wear it against your colorless lives.

I'm glad to have new books.
They're as close to new friends as I can get right now,
and I accept them happily.

Still, to be surrounded by that light is tiring
but it isn't the light that wounds--
it's the people who turn away from it,
too afraid to see me for what I really am.

I wish I knew what that was....
but I don't.