I expect the first thing my mother will say when I come home for Thanksgiving is that my clothes don't match

Today I'm coloring myself
with a box of crayola crayons
mustard yellow tights
carrot orange fingernails
golden toenails
peacock blue socks
fire hydrant red sweater
eggplant purple hat
charcoal gray coat
maroon skirt
cream white sweater
bark brown boots

I'm a clashing blinding colored explosion
And peeking out from my layers of clothes
is a pale face
chameleon eyes reflecting the brightness
of my saturated canvas
enlivening my inner spirits
with an outer expression
of my joyful rainbow