Flag

RED

A breath, a jolt, a smile. Your heart runs amok when this person you’ve been peering at from the corner of your eye gives you a cheerful grin, beaming with love. You blush at their very name, your mouth agape in disbelief; how can it be so strong, so easy to love someone else, all of a sudden? It’s obvious now, and you know that nothing will ever be the same. You hear whispers that it’s not normal, it’s different, but you ignore them at first. You let yourself fall, distraught, melted, a puddle of pink marshmallow fluff on the ground.

Everything tastes different in the glow of this newfound rosé radiance. An unknown but enchanting reflection waits for you in the mirror, a haircut fills you with butterflies; you finally want to be you, and only you, you want to be with whoever you want, however you want. You didn’t even know who you were until someone stared straight at you like that, with eyes like arrows piercing right through the center of your being. And you get drunk on this feeling, over and over, on heady perfumes and sleepless nights spent giggling among the boldness of a sunset. Stolen kisses overrun your sweetest dreams, your cheeks bubbling to know more.

For this brief moment, suspended between the ephemeral and the eternal, everything is dyed bright red, a never-ending blaze lovingly devouring everything in its path. It’s hot, too hot, and you can’t get enough of it. Everything is painted anew in shades you didn’t even know existed: sometimes it’s the pale pink of flattered cheeks, the fuchsia of clenched hearts, the vermilion of hands that brush against each other, the candy canes of fantasies of another body, another self. For nothing in the world would you change anything, in the light of this sparkling “vie en rose”.

ORANGE

But the red quickly mixes with fearful yellow, turning into a diluted, jealous tint of orange, ashamed, guilty of all evil. Sunsets are invaded by hateful quips, cynical and queer-phobic mockery, eye sockets dilated with bitter anger and sputters of ignorant bile. You look in the mirror and hate what you see, your reflection now a monster, a metaphysical horror that you don’t even dare to contemplate anymore. You want to hurt yourself, to get out of this being that has become so vile, so damned, so deserving of the evil that is done to you. You disgust yourself.

You try running away from your discomfort, but it sticks to your skin with its hooks and its paralysing venom, a dirty lens preventing you from seeing properly. There is no more glowing love, no more rosy bodies, no more flames warming you from within. No. Something is wrong with you, say the voices that spew their scorched acid on you in a dark rain, and you should die because of it, or hide forever. You are the heretic, the root of all evil, a disgrace, a stain, because you don’t love as you should. You want to disappear from the face of the planet, never to return. The attacks hit you harder and harder, seeping into your head, taking control, like bricks raining on your frail shoulders. You sink into the deep, giving yourself up to the point of madness.

YELLOW

The crushing words scratch and slice your body, penetrate your flesh like gravel under your skin, impossible to ignore. Insults that tear at you like rusty nails against paper, yellowed and tarnished by time. Everything seems sepia, around you, taking on a grimy, bitter, empty golden hue.

The threats have crushed their target; they leave behind them a hollow shell, a bruised, distrustful, mutilated animal. You freak out at the thought of being alone, living alone, dying alone. Alone, alone, alone; the word haunts your mouth, painting a yellow desert of terror around you. You don’t realise it yet, but other people scare you too. You don’t really believe in the hell they’re damning you to, but maybe you’re already there.

You start analysing every encounter, every grimace, gesture, tone, to be sure you are safe from hatred, from violence; you spend more time censoring yourself than speaking, studying every word you say to avoid them being “misinterpreted”. You become paranoid, overly anxious, expecting the worst around every corner. Fear seeps through your joints like an acidic and irresistible gall; you wake up every morning, your jaw numb from clenching your teeth too hard during the night. You put up higher and higher walls, denser and denser, to keep the outside world at a cautious distance. Your teeth are yellowing from insomnia’s coffee, the back of your eye keeps the trace of passed gleeful days. You are afraid to die, smacked against the pavement or sick from an epidemic that tattoos you like a harrowing stigma. You can’t even pronounce the name of these taboos without shivering. You unravel to the point of wanting to erase yourself, snippets of you barely dwelling your aimless body.

GREEN

Deep inside you, you are green with rage. Anger boils frantically, ready to spill out, making your bones vibrate, almost vomiting its acrid and emerald bouts on everyone you meet. You spend your time justifying yourself, exasperated; you make everybody around you run away. Why do you always make excuses? Why, why, and for what? You rage, snarling in the corner, and you want to scream your fury at the whole world. You don’t like yourself, not anymore. You want to see their laws, their faith, their hate burn to ashes. You can’t take it anymore, your clenched fists bleeding through your palms.

And so you read, you drink, you scream, you stomp your feet and howl at the moon, but it doesn’t get any better, it seems to only get worse. They hit you, you dodge; little by little, you return the blows with all the more wrath. Your knuckles are covered with lesions that have yet to close, your knees are stained with khaki from being punched all over, your teeth loosen below your bashed-in nose. A trickle of blood drips from your cracked lips, and your pupils glisten through the pea-black tint of your dark circles. You wanted nothing of this violence, but it welcomed you with open arms when you were thrown into it. You spit out glass, your hands wrinkling your battered clothes. Fresh marks cover your body, bruises stained with olive and yellow, and you move forward, a forced, crazy grin spreading your twisted mouth.

BLUE

The marks all end up as bruises, inert, dull. A pain that pounds from behind the skull. You don’t want to move anymore, to melt in the middle of your bed, asking that no one comes to disturb you, that they leave you alone. The desire to disappear becomes irrepressible, and your mirror only reflects lifeless brows.

Nothing tastes good anymore, whether it is the bright ink of the sky or the sapphire of their eyes. The days are all the same; little by little, this judgement becomes all too obvious.

Everything is blue. Your heart, your blood, your life. The world becomes dull, as if it’s been emptied of its substance. You’d almost blame yourself, but the cotton growing in your brain prevents you from feeling anything. You drag your body around like a ball and chain, it’s all you think you deserve.

Blue. Clouds.

Blue. You.

Blue.

Grey.

Abyss.

Nothing.

Blue.

Nothing but a stagnant and slimy sea that stretches as far as the eye can see. It drowns you, it fills your lungs and brain, preventing you from moving forward. You find yourself stuck in it, unable to move in this elastic, almost gelatinous body, from which nothing flows anymore.

A life feels so long, and yet yours is already over. At least, that’s what you would have wanted, perhaps, in the shattering silence of these endless nights. In the harsh, ghostly sheen of the bathroom’s dim neon, you see a tear beading on the wing of your nose. Sometimes you wish you’d never been born at all, or at least into something else, someone who does not leave the box, someone “normal”.

You shut your eyes, open them, close them again. There is nothing else but this royal blue, black with sadness, an ocean that engulfs the pores of your skin until you no longer exist.

VIOLET

Hands, arms embrace you, pull you to the surface and burst the bubble of shame that imprisons you. You don’t really know how or where they come from; they wake you up, bringing you back to life. Or rather, they open your doors, and you finally let yourself be vulnerable. The invasive sea you escaped will gnaw at you for a while, but the acid of emptiness is lighter to bear when surrounded by friendly faces. You are told that your existence is not a continuous path of suffering but a celebration, that you owe it to yourself to be happy, to take care of yourself, to love yourself, as a middle finger to all the biting insults. You were told to repent, yet that doesn’t mean you must live a recluse life, far from everything, and especially far from yourself.

Mixed with a little love and self-esteem, blue becomes mauve. And that purple is a badge that you bravely wear, subtly or not, on your jacket collar, your eyelids, a tote bag. Now, you’re fighting back. We’re fighting back. By and for your name, you will not ever let anyone put you off your love, your identity, your orientation. You are proud, and you intend to stay that way.

You found people around you, a community that was more or less waiting for you. You rediscover the tangy flavour of life, hidden under layers of tender bruises, still too sensitive to touch. You walk forward, back straight and chin high, a revamped sense of dignity wrapping around you like an armour, weaved with gold and silver threads. You wave it like a flag, this newfound pride, the taste of others lingering on your lips.

You reunite with yourself in a bright drizzle of colourful glitter, a delighted dazzle when you close your eyes. A burst of iridescent laughter, and the fire burns anew again inside you, more incandescent than ever.