Red. The colour of my lips when I’m out with the girls.Red. The colour of the blood that drips out of a twelve-year-old girl who was raped by ISIS in the name of “worship”.
Orange. The colour of my iPod, a must-have when I’m on a flight.
Orange. The colour of the bright jumpsuit worn by those locked behind bars, hidden from sight and stripped of their freedom.
Yellow. The colour of the sand beneath my feet.
Yellow. The colour of the sun. The beautiful sun that the casualties of Gaza could not greet, along with the families they would not meet.
Green. The colour of the spinach stuck between my teeth after stuffing myself with cannelloni.
Green. The colour of the hat worn by the Turkish police officer as he discovered the lifeless body of a three year old boy washed up by the sea
Blue. The colour of the barista’s eyes who makes my soy chai.
Blue. The colour of the sky when MH17 was shot down, leaving behind unsaid goodbyes.
Indigo. The colour of my spare blanket – the one I use for the nights I have guests over.
Indigo. The colour of the jeans the homeless 28-year-old woman wore on a winter night as she laid shivering without a jacket.
Violet. The colour of the wine in my glass. Third glass, to be exact.
Violet. The colour of the shirt the indigenous teen wore when she hung herself after class.
If life is a rainbow
Then why is your rainbow is so different from mine?
(Image credit: http://annmariebone.deviantart.com)