True Colour Poem by Tisha Kratz

There is a liquid leaking
from the corners
of my broken windows.
Big drops all over
the wall, washes away
its colour. No paint can hide
its true sight.

There, in the middle
of my rose-tinted
glasses, were cracks
as big as a
beaten softball,
who showed me grey.

There were you, standing
outside, on the other side
of my windows.
In grey I saw you standing
through the glass
without pink,

With a bat in your hand and
a softball in the other, you looked
at me. That's when I realized,
it was you, with a smile.

You broke my windows,
you let them leak,
Ruined my disguise,
because you said
it was okay