A Flood of Color

Color floods a plain heart,
More exciting than the start.
More attention than the gray before,
Yet they haven't hit the core.

How could they even think
That this bright unreal mass is me?
Why can't they tell that this two-toned heart,
Surely has a key?

The true me is not of what you stare,
Nor of what you assume.
You would have to cut me in half to
Even have a clue of the light and loom
That lies in the core of me.