little girl sits, thumbs twiddling,
thinking of the wild mess of
colours that she is.
she started off a canvas, a place
for the whole world to paint with:
a product of society.
she was tinged with the pink
shades of maternal affection, felt
naturally cozy in its warmth.
taught the yellow tones of
laughter with every peekaboo,
sneaky tickle and poke.
familiarised with the white
smiles and loving kisses as
they promised her happiness.
closed her eyes, felt comfort
in the black knowing how love
was so close to her heart.
until she took note of the red
passion as she swooned for
the boy of her dreams.
thought that green sprout of love
would only bud and blossom
as time progressed on.
naive, she never did see the
blue thoughts of regret
as her heart broke in two.
discovered the grey storms that
roamed within her, crackled and
roared; she hated the world.
thought she could not breathe
had her face turned purple?
she forgot how to smile.
she isolated herself, blinded by
the sun's orange rays, beckoning
for her steps towards freedom.
left one cold, violet message to
those who had cared, begged
to be left alone once again.
and as she sniffs, mourns in
her own self misery, she realises
her magenta nails had left a mark.
blemised her parents' masterpieces
that fine day, corrupted a
perfectly good canvas.
crying deep into the night
she allows her emotions to
colour hers ruined.
a product of society.
YOU ARE READING
It (#Wattys2016)
Poetry| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
