Thumps down the stairs,
flick the light switch on,
knot keratin, taming the curls,
barely bursting out,
eyes piercing the can of paint,
one hand tightening around the
can to stabilize the shakiness of
nerves tickled by past fears,
POP
goes the lid,
breathe out.
Drop of sweat clustering at the
edge of my brow, daring to fall,
just as if it was begging to imitate
the paper pulled from the roll.
As the paint brush tangoed with
the coats of color, and went to
have an affair with the paper,
the paint became angry,
blaring a red so dull of innocent
passion, a red no longer free from
the unknown, a red haunted by disappointment.
The phone buzzed nearby,
making me drop the paint brush and
end the love affair.
"Hi Charlie, I'm sorry I sounded
so worried.. It's just, I haven't
dealt with this.. Well needed to deal
with this before, so I just.. I don't..
I'm angry, Charlie."
"Hey R-Rose," he said quietly
from the other side of the town,
"I don't k-know what's going on,
but I can tell you that the most beautiful
thing I h-have ever learned is to l-let go
of those who fill your heart with
anger. It makes you scowl most of
your days, fi-filled with this b-bitterness inside
you that not only hurts you, but hurts
everyone around you. The minute you
let go of grudges, and the overbearing weight
that it comes w-with, no matter if it was from
past mistakes, or toxic beings, you will feel
s-so incredibly brave and happy w-hen you do.
D-Don't take this with a grain of salt,
don't brush it o-off so easily because
it will c-ch-hange you, and never for the better."
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
