• I am black and white. I do not talk of the literal terms of my Molino ethnicity. I speak of my very mentally challenged human emotions.

    Black, being the infinite pit of solitude that befalls me is full of anger, hate, and frustration. Being the darkest color to mankind's human eye means no light, no beacon of hope virtually distinct. Nothing is visible, and hence no sense of reality or reason apparent. Any hope to come out rejuvenated is a failed attempt, no matter how hard you strive in any kind of way. It lacks the disciplinary structure it so calls on deaf ears for. Screaming as infinitely as the pitched whirlpool circulates on, growing immense, blackened as victory is attained. This tainted, dark mass will only expand forevermore, as I lack the personal effort to send even the starting beam of pearl white light into the center circumference of that vortex. It is winning. I shun my own actions, and only fall into melancholy. This is my explanation on why I say "when I'm mad, I'm sad".

    The color of white is a very outstanding color. It is of paper our advanced technology (seen through the eyes of the early 20th century) prints on. The common oyster can make a neon white jewel from a single grain of sand with time and dedication. The very image of purity is on wedding dresses, and angels. My favorite instrument even wins over its neighboring black keys. The color white is a very outstanding color. It has been through time without even a passing glance; leered at by the eyes of centuries before, and to come. To this day it's very important. Sometimes I feel white: important, and outstanding. The living ones that have love for me, even love me, make me feel...white. There is just so much obliterating darkness that engulfs this light. I know better than to even attempt to defy it and it is firmly futile. I excuse the statement "go towards the light", because it's a waste of my life. This depiction is my last resort. If I don't climb to the light, I will fade. The five-star individuals I've allowed into my life, the ones whom I allow to walk with me in my ever-changing horizon just aren't enough. They have helped me peek out, but no matter how far I decide to poke out of the swirling typhoon, it swallows me back into the dark. I am mad at myself, and fall into the reoccurring depression stage. It appears as if I am so co-dependant. The intense burning core of the sun (my friends) is warm, but I've got to learn to build my own fire (by myself), and get used to that source of heat. It is also a white light. I can build my own light from the inside and annihilate the darkness, and be white--free.

    Everyone knows where black and white deprive from. Grey is the boring, lifeless color that is apparent on the gloomy stormy days. Luckily, they only come around every so often. Not many have the icky grey cloud hanging in their subconscious, and do not live in fear of a random rainy day. To be distant, emotionless, completely and utterly blank and mute at any moment of your well-being is a distort, ad I loathe it with a passion. Rainy days subject you to almost nothing. Bipolar Disorder is my random rainy day. I am grey at any moment the "operator of emotions" wants to reconnect the plugs at her own pleasures. Nobody can live if it were rainy everyday, it's physically impossible. We need sun, or we die. In my case, if I were grey at all days of my life, I know I would not live. I would feel melancholy for all my days, appearing dead inside all the time. I need some sun, some light in my life. There are times where I have the white upon the black which makes me grey, and I try to value it, but not much it achieved. The conditions solely attached to my altered state of mind greatly disturbs more than other, though they don’t know it.

    Finally, I am sick of feeling grey [when it comes around]. I am tired of neglecting the innocent who are only trying to help me. I'm sorry to all those individual souls which burn lively and only want to see mine do the same. I'm just half alive most of my days, and live in recognition of this, yet will not take any initiative to change my views. I am not weak, I am not scared. I am fixed on my situation. I don't accept it completely, but am stuck in this, and accept that it is a part of me. Why would I want to change myself for anyone? If you want to know Sierra Michelle McBurnett Davis, you get to know the whole puzzle, for if you ignore one piece then it's just not complete. As incomplete as I feel at times.