Black is the most beautiful color.
It is the color of night, of death and Peace.
The color of the inside of my eyelids
I cannot close anymore.

Red is the color of my life
Stolen.  Take all they can and discard the pieces.
Into the bag that sits in the room
That smells of bile, of feces, and oranges.

Yellow is the tube that takes the urine.
Deposits it in the bag with green writing.
The transparent bag that sits on the floor
Next to a dicarded blue sterile drape.

The drape they used to cover my skin
When they pierce me with needles and blades.
Like the ocean, where we first met.
When I could walk, and run, and cry.

Indigo is the last thing I can remember about you.
Was it a shirt you wore?  The name of your perfume?
The color of your eyes?  No.
Your eyes were violet.

White is the most sinister color.
It is the color of those who have done this to me,
Who take what I need, and hoard what I do not.  It is
The color of the bag that sits in the closet,
Hiding my humanity.

Ian P. Best, Chicago, Class of 2001