I don’t see color.
Not in the waves of my long hair,
Or the twinkle in my eyes.
Not In the curves of my legs,
Or the wrinkles in my hands.
Not in the freckles on my cheeks,
Nor the toes on my feet.
I don’t see color.
Not even when I look away, and search another person head to toe.
I won’t see color (at least not at first).
Instead,
I see smiles, compassion.
I hear the kind words of others, or the music in one’s voice.
I can feel the warmth of someone else’s skin,
as their hand gently holds onto my own.
But that hand’s color,
I can’t see. I won’t see it.
Until someone else brings it to my attention,
And then, all of a sudden, that Color is ALL that I can see.
I no longer feel that hand,
I just see it.
Its caramel complexion covering its dark, blue veins
With its shadows that lie between each finger.
And I wonder,
maybe it’s not that I didn’t see it.
But that I chose to ignore what I saw.
That I chose to be colorblind.
Because for me,
I have to deny living in a world defined by color,
Because for so many,
That Color,
is still the only thing that people will choose to see

Nicole Ehrhardt
2013