Discontent in the Mould

Pots and Tubes filled with

The colors I am supposed to be.

Brushes line the counter.

They wait to ridicule me.

Society has said

A million times again

that Natural must be enhanced,

And I can't be who I've been. 

The Tangles in my hair,

Purple and Black and coarse,

Are not beautiful at all, and 

Do not bring me Remorse.

Roughshod and plain, lacking

Paints and Dyes and "Natural Beauty"

Eyes flashing Grey, nose sticking out.

It is the effortless and appreciated me.

Comfort is Simplicity.

Writing in a Dark room,  and breathing in

A favorite Companion. The colors

Around us are who we've always  been.

Contenment and Happiness and Individuality

Are Found in the comfort procured by Simplicity.