My favorite color is a sunny dayAnd a sunny day is honey on a spoon,the daffodils blooming fresh and brightlike a promise, like a celebration.the corn colored threads runningdown her shoulders, meeting her elbowspineapple juice in the morning

I want you to coat my insides like pure joy,like heaven’s ecstasy want you to fill me upyellow paint like Vincent Van GoghI’m not too found of his irises,but I liked the sunflowers

And I like the way the world tries to underestimate youbecause your soft, right, optimisticsomething precious adolescent girls can’t let go ofand that makes them naive, right?Someone to be adored, protected,laughed at?But you have them right where you want them

The sun can warm and burn,the bee can bumble and stingbite,make you hurt, leave a mark on your wristThe lighter that flickers when the house is asleepthe flames on top,moving and shakingready to catch somethinghungry to zap,eager to burnlions and tigers and the flesh of her sick skin

A concept I learned in Kindergarten,when I grabbed a lizard by its tailThat love is exuberant and indelicateand when Claire screamedand everyone turned their back on my assailant waysI learned that the world might love you moreif you were a shade or two lightera cream, a buttersomething you can bake in a cake,because lemons need sweetenerbut the parameters on your happiness taste too much like insecurityand how else can you get what you want other than to grab it?

You have no insecurityyou are shining and brilliant and brighteven when the world around you is a brewing blue,a serious cobalta thundercloud raining on your paradebecause they forgot you were lightning

Spring is my favorite seasonbecause it is the season of you,the giggle of pine treespollen coating every surfaceMy seventh grade converse,monarch butterflies,pina colada popsicles,the lightning bug that blink and fly away

Yellow,When the world tells youthat you are too muchtoo uncontainedtoo uninhibitedwhen they complain that you are some sort of lightweight

Yellow,Remind them about the beesTell them about the goldfinchesand the bitter love of a sunseton everything you wished to be

explain the multitudes you are and everything you love,and show me how to love it too

Because I’ve been burned by a spark before,and I’ve never felt more acutely alive.