Colourless People

Where do colorless people go?

Where do we hide our black-and-white pain?

Why do others try to paint us in colors

we were never meant to wear

Why do they complain

when we finally begin to change—

when the gray inside us shifts,

even slightly, toward something new?

Why do we feel empty,

like an old vintage frame

gathering dust in a forgotten attic?

Why do we question ourselves

as if our own thoughts were strangers?

Will they ever understand us?

Will they ever touch the wound

that keeps bleeding beneath our silence?

Will they hear our quiet crying

when the whole world goes still?

Are we human?

Are we lost?

Are we found?

Or were we always meant

to exist in black and white?

-Just something I write and I know a lot of people relate if you feeling bad or depressed feel free to reach out-