Rainbow Tattoo

Grant Mclaughlin

I bleed colors, 
like rainbow cuts being patched over 
by my overprotective mother. 

Holding me inside of a shell, a smother. 
I can’t share these thoughts with my brothers. 

I’m walking past myself, 
leaving him in the compost pile 
with old leaves and withered vines, 
the preconceived notions, 
and past lovers. 

I was one color, 
now I’m others. 

I wish I had more time with my brother, 
but I let it slide off of me like melting butter 
in a pan. 

I found blooming flowers 
in my hands, in my heart. 
and as they blossom, I’m driven farther apart 
from my roots. 

Like a tree with many red, orange, and yellow 
leaves being ripped out of the ground, 
to be replanted in some other 
green forest. 

The colors bleed out of me, 
cut open by those who weren’t afraid of who they are. 

The rainbows are spreading out onto my skin 
like tattoo ink. 

I can’t wash this off anymore, 
not in the shower, 
not in deleted text messages 
or cute flirtatious conversations. 

It’s a part of me. 
my tattoo, 
my many colors.