she is blue electric music. 

 

she is cocktails and bright neon lights and classic cars and pastel smeared colored flowers. 

 

she is the childhood dream of becoming an international pop super star, she is elongated youth, she is unrestricted laughter and face numbing grins, she is the gust of wind in your hair and the taste of cold water in your mouth.

 

but when she steps of out of her room, she steps out of herself.

she becomes tight-lipped smiles and rigid postures. 

she becomes the somber ambience of lost love 

and the humidity of the rain.

she becomes controlled laughter and nervous eyes and pacing heart and the constant berating of her own character and physique. 

she becomes anything but herself.

 

she wears a shield.

it is thick metal armor and covers her from 

head 

to 

toe, 

inside out, 

to protect her from society and all it's institutionalized normalities 

on her weight 

and her body 

and her hair 

and her face 

and her actions 

and what she should 

and should not do, 

and from it she develops a growing fear, 

it is intangible 

and 

invisible 

but it weighs her down 

on the inside,

threatening to eat her alive.

 

so she continues to paint herself with a color that does not belong to her, and the act itself is something so constant, something so routine, 

that she doesn't know 

where she begins 

and where the colors end.