Her trust is a piece of flash paper
and she sees the world as iron and flint.
conversations with her are like striking a match,
she drops it when the flame’s gets close.
She’s got burns on her soul
from a field trip to Hell in high school
that a part of her never came back from.
She is scared of the color red.
It’s a color that screams “here I am.”
and she’s not sure if she’s where she wants to be.
But she wears it on her mouth like a badge of courage
To make everything louder, prouder-
she’s tired of being talked over.
She tells you what’s on her mind
because she hasn’t the time to explain everything
to people who don’t run on coals.
She reads people like street signs,
And she doesn't like detours.