Bailey Young/The Baron
My favorite color—what is yours?
When asked, I never found the words.
I hid behind an exclamation mark,
Why do we choose? It feels so stark.
Why have favorites? It’s a bit strange,
Choosing red when green’s in range.
Blue over the seas so wide,
Pale never fades, though still denied.
Yellow, they say, is the color of love,
But what of purple? Grey? And above,
What about black, so dark and deep,
My favorite color, the one I keep?
It reminds me of my childhood days,
The good parts hidden in a haze.
My favorite color is black, you see,
The unseen parts that comfort me.
White’s my favorite too, sometimes,
Worn on a body filled with lines.
White screams to be red, loud and bright,
The color everyone loves at sight.
But red, they fear, when loved ones bleed,
Green, they love, in the sunny need,
Blue they adore when white clouds hide,
But black’s the one they cast aside.
They told me black is dark, a void,
A color empty and destroyed.
But to me, black’s my armor, strong,
A shield I’ve carried all along.
My peace is black, my grief is black,
In black I find the deepest truth.
I’ll defend black until you can see,
That in the end, it’s part of me.
