I’m not so sure how “strong” I have been the last fourteen days, but my nails have not been black.
All fingers and toes in Rhapsody Red.
I don’t hate it anymore–it’s growing on me. Red is thought to symbolize a variety of things:
A gnat just landed on my screen, I smashed it, involuntarily and swiped right. I wonder how many bugs have had to die for beauty? For clothing? Makeup? Nail polish?
Sometimes I put on a red lipstick: Cherry Red. It’s that Lipsense, smudge free, 12 hour lipstick. I have to scrub my lips with vigor and strength to get the color off at the end of the night, and it turns them bright red with rawness.
I see red in long glances from the opposite sex.
I feel red pumping in my veins.
I see red in my mother’s eyes.
I feel red in the voices of unhappy strangers.
I see red in past lover’s hearts.
I feel red overpowering my psyche.
I saw red on the dry paper towel that rubbed my neck after the needles maniacally penetrated my skin for hours.
I feel the swollen red skin today.
I see the red of my other tattoos.
I sense my red is mostly angry and lacking love.
I sense red is what it will inevitably come to.
I’m not fit to wear red right now, but until the bottles run dry–
It’s Rhapsody and Cherry Red.
But everything else is very black.