black nail polish
She is
I mean
She isn’t
I meant.
She is thunder
on a warm summer day.
She is
Lightning atop of
a clear night sky.
She is,
How do you say
Different.
She is not the cheesy
Type different that
Cheesy authors write
In their cheesy books
About
Nothing.
She is different
Like the taste of
Someone else’s macaroni
Instead of your mother’s
That feeling of disappointment
After stacking your plate
Sky high
Expecting something
you knew
was going to taste good
Only to find dissatisfaction.
The gist?
She is not
Enough.
Like,
She is literally
Too much.
Dissociating with her peers
Because she’s too much
of one thing for one group
and too much of another
for the other.
She receives dark eyes
For dressing her lips in dark pigmentation.
“Come on guys, it’s just lipstick.”
“Damn it, stop trying so hard to be different.”
If only she had listened.
Bordering up her exterior
With darker colors
Darker things
Darker themes
All holding darker thoughts,
Interior.
Only because she wore
dark paint
on her full lips.
So she sketches
Vivid lines
On her thighs,
Late at night,
Winces and ‘ouches’
Smothered by her cries.
But now
She instead,
stipples red lines
On a sketchbook
Outlining
a new page
In her life.
The artist who
No longer craves
artwork
etched into skin
But rather hanging
In art galleries,
Giving some
Representation
On their walls
To minorities.
The writer who
No longer writes in red ink using
Blueish lines
As guidelines.
But in greens
With vitality
Because she became
her own
positive muse.
Starting over,
Completely over,
She embraces who is under her dark exterior
Or maybe it was interior
She confuses who she was
From
Who she actually is.
She fully embraces
Her genetic make-up
Now.
Now?
Really?
After escaping
The place where people
Looked like her
She’s now proud to be her.
Now that no one looks like her.
And most shame her for being
Proud of her.
You see,
She is too different.
She’s just
too different!
She embraces it now.
Involuntarily un-adapting to her surroundings
Purposely trying
To be different.
No one will ever forget
Her name.
A majority
of minorities.
But now she’s lighter,
comfortable.
Although still having a dark
remnant
Like chipped,
black nail polish.
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