With eyes as dark as the sky,
Minutes shy from the break of dawn,
She knew that she was at peace,
With a life that ceased with the color of her fear;
She met her Color at the age of 6,
When she donned a red dress her dear uncle made,
Only to tear it at a game her dearest uncle played;
She met her Color again as it trickled through her thighs,
For which her family celebrated and yet shackled her,
As now her vagina must hold values and virtues;
She grew with her Color,
As womanhood slowly embraced her,
And little red roses found her in their bewildered maze;
One fine little red rose found his way,
And marked her with his little red streak,
For now his white sheets await her glorified red stain;
From then she knew her Color would betray her,
As now she bled not just from her thighs,
But from anywhere her little red rose wished;
And then one night she was finally convicted for the crime she bled,
As darkness ripped her open she found refuge in her ever ill-fated Color,
For red was the reason for her existence, her agony and her death.
-