An April Piece

My Best Color

Call me Shawty.

My neck whips back and forth with words flying outta my mouth.

I’m down for whateva, wheneva, howeva, and I always got yo back.

I still bleed red when the bullets pierce my body.

Call me Mami.

My perfectly stenciled eyebrows and pouty dark red lips are strong.

The sweet language pouring from within is stronger.

I still bleed red when that girl’s razor runs across my skin.

Call me Holy Roller.

I’ve been Bible thumping all my life and I stay pure as the driven snow.

I look down my nose and hypocritically quote about God’s unconditional love.

I still bleed red when my knees hit the gravel I pound spreading The Word.

Call me Malibu Barbie.

My bleach blonde hair and purchased tan make me sizzle.

I show it all off in my speedy red convertible.

I still bleed red when the scalpel makes one more correction on my face.

Call me Brave.

In my dark, dusty skin I walk miles a day for water and food.

I provide the best I can for my two bastard children.

I still bleed red when the soldiers break in and rape me raw.

Call me Scared.

My shrouded, yellow skin keeps every inch of me covered from sight.

Bombs threaten my life daily as my men accompany me for safety and protection.

I still bleed red when I am stoned to death for looking at a man and smiling.

Call me Child.

Pink curtains and rusty mattress frames make up my world.

I remember being overwhelmed by adults better than I can recall my parents’ faces.

I still bleed red when they sell me to sex fiends and monsters.

Call me Mother.

I waddle into the hospital with labor pains.

I spend hours walking and sweating and pushing.

I still bleed red when they apologize for placing a lifeless infant in my arms.

Call me Innocent.

My body grows weaker and my bald head shinier,

As my cancer riddled insides drink radioactive poisons.

I still bleed red when it rejects the next treatment that kills so that I might survive.

Call me Battered.

Heavy makeup and long sleeves cover my shameful and guilty feelings.

Sunglasses and fake smiles fail to hide bruises inside and out.

I still bleed red as I ice my busted lip and broken bones.

I can be anything in this world that I want to be,

I can distinguish myself as an individual.

I can make a name for myself by being myself.

I am singly female

but

WE

still bleed red.

Copyright © 2010 Natasha Guy