Enough.

I just saw "For Colored Girls."

When I try to articulate, even to myself, what I've just seen and experienced, I can't get past the swell of moisture beneath my eyelids and the brick of heavy on my chest.

I'm devastated.

This was a movie with no sunlight. No warmth. No whisper of balance of yin and yang or good and evil. Or right and wrong. The movie just was truth. And is.

ME.

And I can't help but wonder (and I hate when Carrie Bradshaw says that phrase in her lilting voiceover that sounds pretty but is void of any responsibility for her current state of fashioned - and fashiony - chaos, but I digress) is THIS the kind of colored I am? The soaked through sadness? The wistfully romantic, but unrealistic? The hardened with thick rhinocerous skin? The heartbreakingly naive? The misplaced righteous? The lost and near broken?

This was a movie with no sunlight. Begat from a play with no dawn.

But, I WANT to be the colored that shines! The capital C-olored forever awash with tiny pinpoints of ethereal light. The kind of Colored that makes mouths water for chocolate so rich and delectable and . . . Godiva.

The kind of Colored that makes mouths happy.

But how can I? With a heritage so burdened with skin-hued despair?
But how can I? When people, even my own, tell me I can't because I am not colored enough?
But how can I? When I'm trying to be better? Faster? Stronger? Smarter? To prove that I am just as good. As everyone else. Trying harder than everyone else, just to be . . .equal.
But how can I? When my speech isn't peppered with the streets that I don't know because I was raised in the suburbs?

I'm not exactly sure that I'll ever be colored enough to be Colored.