Red.

Camouflaged confidence and disguised wishes,
Scratched nail paints and sunlit kisses,
Hued lips and blackened eyes,
A battle of infinite tries.


But not once, the perfect color,
Or the right word to utter,
A lipstick, a majestic dress,
In constant attempts to impress,
The world, that differentiates.


In the fear of being tyrannized,
I hesitate, and paint my lips with lies,
Of colors I loathe, abhor,
Pink, sometimes orange, or gold.


Not once, red, do I wear,
Is it, but a fear?
Of labels so appalling,
Grotesque image, oblivious falling.


Someday, I'll knit a poem,
Untangle the hidden rhyme,
And wear, the bold of all reds,
Despite of it, being a crime.