The colors are bright.
The words are more so.
Vibrant and screaming identity,
a need to make a mark,
to be remembered, be it for love or hate,
to create noise or altered history,
so bright you forget
there is a thing behind it,
dull perhaps, but honestly made,
overcome by the artistry
of the angry.
About this poem.
If I told you what this poem is about, you’d shake your head. So let’s just make it about graffiti. I prefer being thought of as (relatively) sane.