He is yellow wallpaper,
on the walls of the closet.
So often threatened to be ripped,
for being gaudy and inappropriate.
Why couldn’t he be fuchsia pink, that shines on those bedroom walls?
Or, sapphire blue, that’s regarded as a beautiful hue?
Why is he him?
Queer and strange?
He’s heard those chides, mocks and remarks
“He is trying out a dumb fad”, “He is such a farce” .
So he pretends -
Puts some tapes and adhesives and disregards his inner feelings.
Even used a roller to deflate the bubbles under his skin.
But couldn’t blend in.
Sometimes, for being too flamboyant.
Sometimes, too bleached.
Striking as a wallflower with no perfect tint.
Shamed, he slid back into his closet.
Where its dark but safe.
He can hide away his rips and wrinkles, and bruises behind those gates.
Yet, he dreams of a day when he can be himself.
Rewarded like a sunflower,
desired like a bright fire.
Oh what will he give...
To be paraded in the living room and be flaunted in the aisles
Or maybe just accepted with other textiles.
But for now he’s just the yellow wallpaper hiding away in his closet
waiting to be peeled or brought out free.