Keeping My Colors

He wants me 
to sit down 
and write a poem
but my hearts done hemorrhaging 
now bouncy, boisterous, plump.
I skip through puddles 
in polka dot rain boots,
fresh water splashes this page
where salt and blood once did.
I tilt up to the sun 
she kisses my eyelids,
grazes my nose and lips.

“Not enough,” he says. 
He wants me to bleed. 
He liked the way
It splattered and hardened. 
Rusted blade to cheek
He takes, offers a bargain, 
“I’ll cut you here
When this one heals
I’ll cut you there.”
He grips the hairs of my head
pulls me into his rigid, bony, edges 
“Now waltz with me.”
The cast of red stained glass veils his face
the only color to mask his gray skin.
He crushes me as we dance.
Resistance, my stubborn nature
grapples. 
His gray skin wants my deep purple,
My emerald green, my lovely, soft yellow.
He forces me a pill.
He injects my thigh with a serum.
I loosen, my brain melts in his grip.
His wit while noteworthy 
is no match for mine.

These chains are rusted 
and he is the slave to time.
He lives within law.
My soul is outside of it
I crush the chains 
for words are my power 
his contracts unsigned 
even if- it's flawed.
I float above him
Here I shall dance 
wistfully, freely, I twirl and leap. 
His frown hardens 
while my smile permeates the ground.
Fresh water to nurture the flowers
for that coming spring.
At home 
polka dot rain boots 
await me.

-Haylee R. Curry