It is so simple for us,
To paint people in monochromes.
Drab and dull and destitute,
It is our joy to point and denude.
We see those faceless men walking by,
To their jobs, lives, whatever makes them cry.
We see their lives unfold in our minds,
Like little posies, so pink and so common.
We label their clothes, and value their sighs,
And all in beautiful black and white.
We walk with happy slits in our eyes,
Sneak peeks at our rainbows by our sides.
Step around in a helpless haze,
With the inability to see any shades.
We stumble around mouthing our parts,
Seeing our vividity seep through the lines.
And have the gall to call others colourless.