Green was never my color
The cracks peeked through my exterior, and jealously surged up my spine until my pupils were the color of green. Green like envy, green like ivy, green like I’d be—happy, if I was beautiful too. So, I went to the make-up counter, and bought the bright red lipstick, and heavily black mascara—and piled the products on, so that ugly would not bleed through. But that shred of anguish turned inward, and anger’s shade faded to lament, and I began to resent, myself. Wiped off all the products I had brought from the shelf, because pretty didn’t feel any easier either. That I would never look like that, or be like her. I scrapped off all those notions, and unfastened all those ideas—green was never my color; ashamed I shed some tears.
xx
