Bleeding Red

My colour is red.

How come? You say.

When there are boundless pigments close at bay.

Pinks, blues, violets and such

Would be more suited for my face.

Though that maybe true let me tell you,

Why rouges and I are interlaced.

It's hue makes the wheel spin round,

Blazing, charging, of the three Musketeers.

Headliner of the stage, or caution from the bold.

Romantic and polished like a dashing cavalier.

The shade is woven with emotions

Like hot, striking and most of all passion.

A crack of Merlot and wrapped up in velvet,

I swear that red never goes out of fashion.

When I image a temptress of a lady,

I only think of her signature cherry lipstick.

When a substantial meal is place in front of me,

Kiss it with chilli or peppers, just for kick.

White diamonds are too generic.

Make a statement, have rubies and be royalty.

And if the song is true

that diamonds are a girl's best friend,

Well red diamonds are my loyalty.

I think Redheads are the black beauty of world.

Yielding the flame of rare auburn and ginger speckles.

They might be ivory, with soulful hazel eyes,

But they are unique and handsome little devils.

Bewitch the room and corrupt the yearning.

Why be passive when you can exhibit desire?

Let every man and lady have an obsession

When you stun the room in your scarlet attire.

You might think I'm devoted,

That I believe red is perfection.

But every beautiful colour has its' blemishes,

and red has many defections.

I believe the world is fixated with red.

Lots are colour-blind and I'll tell you why.

People stain the street in the name of their rights,

Many just observe than become the ally.

Absolute politics claim the colour,

terrorising the nation to see pain and hurt.

In the name of superiority of our differences,

We written more tragedies just to be first.

Marked the symbol of taboo,

Districts were made where the rating is X.

Selling lusty thrills and secret fantasies,

but we condemn the workers not worth the respect.

We made red a racial slur,

to mark the Natives and bring them down to nothing.

Battles formed from our skin colour and unity is blurred,

But bloodshed is the prime shade and still ongoing.

It symbols painful moments for some women.

It's the curse, the lost of innocence or the struggle of giving birth.

For men its the beatings of bullies or soldiers who seen combat.

Trauma of their tormentor, or poppies of comrades beneath the earth.

The say colour blindness is when you can't convey certain colours,

Well then I think the world is starting to go blind.

We reduce each other to labels, classes and even different creatures.

But we are all equally crimson by design.

From all the poured blood, rage and control,

Pray that we can find love and that it will spread.

The world might think another pigment is right,

But I also think your colour is red.