My Favorite Colors

People don’t understand when they ask me my favorite colors.
I’m a girl; I should like pink and purple, lime green and fluorescent yellow.
But I don’t.
My favorite colors are black, by whom Death is symbolized, and red, through whom rage is bellowed.

I hate it when I get the looks of condescension.
They don’t know what I go through.
They don’t see the scars on my soul; they don’t hear the sharp words of bullying I endure.
These two colors are the best, but only in the right hue.

Black must be as dark as my soul.
It must be as dark as a night with no moon.
This is the color I see when I sleep, my cradle of almost-thoughtlessness.
Black is the promise of Death coming soon…

Red. Red must be dark, like blood.
When I use paint, though not well, I get ridiculed for the eyes.
The eyes of my nightmares, red and bleeding, with teeth gleaming and laughing in the night.
The eyes and teeth that tear me apart, sending me to my demise.

So if you ever meet me, God bless you if you do,
Don’t ask me my favorite colors, because if you do,
You’ll see a dark, ugly, monstrous side of me.
And your innocence that you didn't know you had will be through.