Vent poetry </3 Don’t read if uncomfortable, or you hate poetry.
I’m starting to hate the colour Red.
Why can’t it leave me alone.
When I focus on the rest of the palette, I don’t really notice it’s there.
Yet it is, haunting every day.
A haunting, shadow presence over my head.
Until it engulfs me again.
Each time deeper into the ravines.
Each time it feels more horrible to mess up the perfect clean surface.
Each time leaving a stain much harder to scrub out than the last.
It turns my white sleeves pink.
It leaves my head swirling.
Until that Rainbow heaves me out again onto wobbly ground.
That Rainbow with no sight of red.
And I recognise the world again. I feel lighter.
But still empty. Apathetic.
Because I know that Red is still part of the Rainbow.
Light reflects all colour.
And when the light eventually refracts off the raindrops at the right angle.
Red will be there, haunting and lingering.
Eager to one day drown me again.
To succeed.
Because Red is determination. Red is bold.
Red is stubborn.
And I hate stubborn people.
