Birthed from the ashes, like a phoenix perhaps?
The dress dares to be strikingly close to the color of said bird
Clipped wings give you reassurance,
Maybe you should have given me a white dress
or a black one to mourn for your soul
You didn’t know?
This pale complexion came from hours of smoldering
Crushed to the point of breaking,
but not quite yet
Maybe that’s why you covered me with folds of crimson
Marring the skin with blossoms of scarlet would have been too much,
even for you
That’s why you clothed me in burgundy
Praying that the ruby would smother the fire in my eyes until it died,
I may be a porcelain doll in the red dress,
insipid beauty meant for display
I was sent to burn
I will not crack, I will not break
Covered with fissures
The number may have replaced my name
I will not dim
I will not die out
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