Isn't My Reality Just Mine?

My purple moon rises every morning

My green sun shines through the night

My birds and animals crack jokes and spout philosophy

My fellow human's chirp and purr and exhibit miso Sophy

The roads that I walk on are soft

The rains that drench me are hot

How do I express these truths?

How do I make anyone understand?

That this is not my poetry but my reality?

I read that the sun is not green, and the moon is a white blot

I read that humans can talk while animals cannot

But what do I do?

I beg my flowers to reveal they're true colors, but they remain black

I beg my tears to turn into water, but they simply burn

Is it wrong that my oceans are sweet and not salty?

Is it a crime that my humans are gentle and not haughty?

Isn’t my reality just mine?

Don't I have the right to green sunshine?

If you declare my reality as fake, then I demand

What of the people whose realities contain religions?

What of the people whose realities contain caste?

If their realities are true, then more so is mine.

I will live inside a camel’s hump

I will take a bath in an ink bottle

I will travel through power transmission lines

I will have a say in my world's designs

Doesn't the maxim go - "I think, therefore I am"?

I declare then, "I think; therefore, these are."