my shade

I bought my first tube of fire engine red lipstick when I was 12.

.

I wanted it for a vocal recital because I wanted to associate my mouth with something pretty because I thought the voice that spilled out was anything but.

.

I chugged french vanilla tea with honey before I smeared it on like diluted warrior paint.

.

The smells of cinnamon and cardamom and clove permanently molded into its molecules.

.

That tube of lipstick still haunts all of my purses to this very day.

.

I was terrified to wear red on my mouth all throughout college.

.

I stained every cup of coffee and tea that I left behind on each classroom floor and worried myself sick over someone finding them and coming to find me.

.

One time, she tried to find me. All of me.

.

Her mouth moved its way to my pulsing heart , my center.

.

She had done this plenty of times before and I had dreamed about this moment for a long time.

.

I can’t remember what made us stop but when she came up for air, my redness was painted from one ear to the other.

.

Her big white teeth the focal point , almost like the one white sea cap amidst a brown and seaweed-filled tide.

.

“Trust me. Trust me. It’s fine. It’s not the first time.”

.

But, it was my first time.

.

My first time seeing my blood on something other than a manufactured menstrual product or in mandala and spider-web shaped patterns on my knees, from running into walls and going places I never should have gone.

.

Blood is blood. It comes out and stays exactly the same.

.

Red. Brown. Purple.

.

I own all three shades of lipstick now but not then.

.

But then, she wore my shade of beautiful with pride.

.

One time, a man was too afraid to go down on me in a broke-down motel room.

.

I mean, my flow did slow down in the shower but, his red blood shot eyes?

.

Acceptable red.

.

The brown shower water?

.

Disgusting, but wet enough to keep me wet for later.

.

The color of his jolly rancher haze from his overly priced vape?

.

Purple and priceless to him.

.

Yes, he lives in a black-and-white and gray world.

.

Colors aren’t okay for him.

.

Too natural, too vibrant, too scary, too me.

.

I was too much me for him.

.

But she wanted it all back then.

.

She craved it all.

.

All of me.

.

I’ve yet to seek that same type of love again.

.

Maybe I’m too much me for me.