summer unfolded into yellowing days &

the low hum of traffic static,

so i clawed out of the monotony,

cut my hair with red craft scissors listening to

screaming cicadas under a strawberry lemonade sky,

& my hair looked terrible. 

a two-minute funeral for six years' hair killed by

five-dollar red scissors. 

 

i bought a pair of red knockoff converse shoes

at a thrift shop, & they haunted my closet,

two twin ghosts buried under long-lost science projects,

for the entirety of yellow summer,

red for STOP, DO NOT PASS GO, red for WARNING. 

 

but i stepped into school on a cornflower blue monday,

my horrible hair and my stop-sign shoes,

& on tuesday, i did the same. 

 

red does not stand for bloodshed or anger

but fear. i was a beige-paper girl, 

born invisible & wordless, 

& red was the salivating monster suffocating me. 

my monster said turn into a mirror,

or nothing at all.

i learned how to disappear,

translucent & flimsy like newspaper,

shielded by a thick curtain of black hair.

 

i wrenched away my fear & i wield it as my weapon. 

i cut my hair with my red craft scissor sword,

& red became the shoes that traveled the paths

i had always been fearful of crossing. 

i killed a monster & became a hero,

with horrible hair & red shoes i wear each day.