A kid sits on the doorstep, while the others have already reached the top.
They used color—color the kid couldn’t even see.
He tries to reach up, even tries to imagine color,
But he’s just looked at strangely,
Then shoved aside by the crowd rushing in.
He turns to his family.
“Why do all the kids see color, and I don’t?”
That day he took a beating.
Even his family can’t see color.
They can’t answer his question—
But they can smell his tears,
And that makes them feel better.
Because it redirects their flaws back onto him.
It makes them feel whole.
The kids who see color, once they’ve climbed high enough,
Begin to cheer for others—so long as they’re strong.
One of them asks,
“Why do we kick the weak ones, even when they cheer for us?”
Another answers:
“Because they don’t see color.”
When they tire of climbing, these kids slide down in a burst of sparkles,
Showing off their best moments.
Some of them go back down to lift others up,
But not without strings.
“These kids owe us now,” they say.
“Forever.”
The kids who see color begin collecting it—
Stacking it, flaunting it, trading it.
But what happens when a colorless kid stumbles upon a stack,
And tries to wear it?
Imagine a sun burning itself out—
A firework pretending to be a star.
The colorless kid still has some color,
But it’s useless to him.
He doesn’t even see it.
To others, he looks like one of the rich kids who rode the slide,
A color hoarder.
But no—he just acts strange.
His family knows this could go either way.
But they are strange too.
Snakes with venom so quiet, you don’t know it’s in your blood
Until you start hating yourself.
They understand bleakness.
They only feel excitement when the world turns grey.
They hate fighters.
They hate the spark of resistance.
It repulses them.
And life has taught the kid to stop fighting,
Just like they did.
Now the kid is about to cry.
His family is sharpening their appetite.
Preparing their laughter.
Feasting on his despair.
“Haven’t we told you? You’re the kid who doesn’t see color.”
“Yes,” he says. “But aren’t you my family? Shouldn’t you want to help me stand?”
“Why?” they smile. “You’re our entertainment.
You give our life meaning.
You keep the cycle going.
They ignored us—so we’ll ignore you.”
They used color—color the kid couldn’t even see.
He tries to reach up, even tries to imagine color,
But he’s just looked at strangely,
Then shoved aside by the crowd rushing in.
He turns to his family.
“Why do all the kids see color, and I don’t?”
That day he took a beating.
Even his family can’t see color.
They can’t answer his question—
But they can smell his tears,
And that makes them feel better.
Because it redirects their flaws back onto him.
It makes them feel whole.
The kids who see color, once they’ve climbed high enough,
Begin to cheer for others—so long as they’re strong.
One of them asks,
“Why do we kick the weak ones, even when they cheer for us?”
Another answers:
“Because they don’t see color.”
When they tire of climbing, these kids slide down in a burst of sparkles,
Showing off their best moments.
Some of them go back down to lift others up,
But not without strings.
“These kids owe us now,” they say.
“Forever.”
The kids who see color begin collecting it—
Stacking it, flaunting it, trading it.
But what happens when a colorless kid stumbles upon a stack,
And tries to wear it?
Imagine a sun burning itself out—
A firework pretending to be a star.
The colorless kid still has some color,
But it’s useless to him.
He doesn’t even see it.
To others, he looks like one of the rich kids who rode the slide,
A color hoarder.
But no—he just acts strange.
His family knows this could go either way.
But they are strange too.
Snakes with venom so quiet, you don’t know it’s in your blood
Until you start hating yourself.
They understand bleakness.
They only feel excitement when the world turns grey.
They hate fighters.
They hate the spark of resistance.
It repulses them.
And life has taught the kid to stop fighting,
Just like they did.
Now the kid is about to cry.
His family is sharpening their appetite.
Preparing their laughter.
Feasting on his despair.
“Haven’t we told you? You’re the kid who doesn’t see color.”
“Yes,” he says. “But aren’t you my family? Shouldn’t you want to help me stand?”
“Why?” they smile. “You’re our entertainment.
You give our life meaning.
You keep the cycle going.
They ignored us—so we’ll ignore you.”
