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White to Red
You ruined nothing yet everything.
Your lips were a magic erasing paint brush,
running around every curve and edge of my being,
removing the paint off of my skin.
Say goodbye to the perfectly painted picture of a girl who had no flaws,
of a girl who was the image of good and pure;
Say hello to the teenager who breathes no oxygen but rather sex,
who drinks no milk but rather straight liquor,
who's hands no longer remain folded in her lap but rather run up and down your body and her own,
who's mind no longer imagines a white picket fence but rather recklessness.
I was a masterpiece before you.
I was painted by the world's most proclaimed artists;
My pristine white color was an accepted truth.
Until it was not and I was red.
You must have had x-ray vision.
You could see more than most, but not the truth.
It is said that every person sees colors slightly differently;
My purple could be your blue,
your yellow my orange.
So your pink was my red.
Pink was the color you perceived under all the fine work that concealed it,
the color you hoped to uncover.
You instead released red that had long been awaiting its freedom.
The danger scared you away and lured you back,
a never ending cycle of fear followed by an allure like none other.
Red, although often intense, is irresistible.
Captivating and riveting like me.
So this is why while others condemn you for your destruction of a pretty treasure,
I thank you.
You unleashed something more ravishing,
something more me.