Black Hair and Red Lips

February 14, 2012
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In the style of “Casey at the Bat”
One day a girl was sitting, thinking about her pictures,
She wondered what people would say and about their strictures.
Her heart didn’t care…but it was her brain that made her cringe,
She sat by the mirror as her black hair began to singe.

She saw her dress, so black, so beautiful, it was eerie,
For that was the idea to express her own theory.
She thought normal people only liked bright, colorful things,
She thought she was the only one who cut off their own strings.

As she put on her black dress, she noticed a thing or two,
Her skin was so pale and white against the dress’s black hue.
She was intrigued, bewildered by this contrast of colors,
She noted that this contrast was nothing like her brother’s.

He was statuesque and muscular with a hint of brains,
At moments while he flexed his arms, you could see all his veins.
He wore colors like there was no preparation to it,
When she wore colors people would say it wasn’t a hit.

She would try to blend in with her black hair and her red lips,
Her peers just waited for her to sail her very own ships.
To her, her life seemed like a lifetime in fifteen short years,
She didn’t want to face the things they shouted to her ears.

The girl went to school every day to get out of that town,
She just smiled and waved so nobody could see her frown.
This girl had a friend that knew she was talented at art,
Her friend also knew that she was truly lonely at heart.

The girl looked in her mirror as she analyzed herself,
She got up and looked at the window…then turned to her shelf.
She saw everything she hated the most but she was late,
She grabbed her things and left for this was an important date.

She got in her car and headed to her life she dreamed for,
The drive was long and tedious and she opened the door.
She sat there, not daring to step foot in that very room,
Because this room was important and not a cartoon.

Twelve minutes passed as she watched people walk by where she sat,
She got the courage to walk in and almost gave a shout.
The girl saw her idol, the women who she wanted to be,
She saw her art on the walls, side by side, and she felt free.

She saw the art and oohed and awed in happy disbelief,
The girl saw everything she wanted and she felt no grief.
The girl decided that life would get better and life did,
She walked to her car and didn’t see the ice so she slid.
There she was, her idol, helping her get up from the ground,
“Are you okay?” she asked not looking for cameras around.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” The girl said and then she thought of something,
“Can I show you my art?” Her idol was glad and jumping.

The girl drove to her home and showed the artist her pieces,
“They are amazing…pure genius…incredible pieces”.
The idol offered the girl a job she couldn’t refuse,
The girl is no longer an object to point and abuse.

The girl is blissful…no longer depressed and lost in life,
She is a mother to a beautiful girl and a wife.
She works with her idol…friend…, who understands everything,
She is no longer afraid to face her fears…not a thing.

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