Rose-colored glasses...

When I walk my nervous walk–

Baggy clothes cynically trying to

hide my body’s natural curves

Head leaning forward, admiring the details of

the bleak concrete sidewalk through scratched lenses,

tortoise frame slipping

from the apex of my nose

down

to

its

bottom

The desire to be someone else strikes me

I am sick of being a Rose in a sea of tulips

I’m lonely and honestly, barely getting by

Every interaction is lead by inhibition and insecurities,

crimson cheeks as I watch

every word

spinelessly

crawl out

of my mouth–

I am of a different breed

s t r a y i n g from herds of gregarious sheeps

Scars camouflaged with

vintage black sketches needled into the rugged and creamy shell of my flesh

Black and white river of thoughts, s l o w l y f a d i n g

into streams of subtler shades

Rainbow wits and their endeavors

to stain the darkest parts of me

“delete negativity”

Ask me and I’ll tell you…

rose-colored glasses are for the faint of heart

Tell me to bathe in a pool of fear

Tell me to swim in murky waters of uncertainty

But d o n ’ t tell me to act like I am

one

of

them.