Red.
Red is a fading sunset on the horizon.
It’s a burst of flame;
A spray of the fire leaping towards us.
It’s the heat of the warm afternoon.
It’s the face of an angry teacher.
It can also be an embarrassed pupil.
It’s a flickering flame of a tiny candle.
It’s the spark able to spread the wildfire of love.
Red is the color of heat.
It’s full of passion.
It’s bold.
Red won’t tolerate injustice.
It’s hard and unfortunately stubborn.
Red will never give in.
Even when it needs to.
Red has the brawn of an ox,
The skill of a pride of lions,
And even the diligence of a colony of fire ants.
It does not back down or grow weary.
Red stands his ground firmly.
It’s charming and romantic.
Red is like a harvest of fresh raspberries:
Satisfyingly and deliciously juicy.
Red is optimistic.
Red is the color of a rising dawn that glides across the morning sky and through the misty white clouds.
It’s the hot July sun, beating down on your entire body, and filling you with warmth.
It’s the thorn that gets to ***** your fingers when you choose to hold it.
But it’s also a precious rose, that will always smell sweeter and sweeter than before.
Red, by any other name, would still remain red.

I don’t blame you.
Honestly, I don’t.

I don’t blame you for judging me,
labeling me,
for me.

I’m a twin.
Apparently, I should know exactly where the other half is.:
I should know exactly what she’s thinking.
Exactly what’s going through her mind,
and apparently, I don’t have that power.

I’m a twin.
I don’t get everything I want.
I have to have approval
by the other half
before I get anything.
I don’t know about you,
but that’s why I don’t have good things.

“I don’t want to make her feel bad!”
You think you’re being nice.
You think your saying
“I’m trying to help the both of you!”
To me you’re saying
“You don’t get this because you’re different than everyone else!”
Didn’t we get past that?
Didn’t we get past people supposedly being less fortunate
because they were born different?

I have blonde hair.
I hate blonde jokes.
A blonde crashed a helicopter.
A police officer asked what happened.
She says, “it got cold so I turned the fan off”!”
Haha. I get it.
It’s funny because blondes are dumb.
Blondes are stupid.
Blondes are special.
Ok. I guess I shouldn’t be here right now.
Giving this poem.
Bye then!

Oh, wait!
But that’s not all!
I have blue eyes too!
I must be Barbie!
Blonde hair? Blue eyes?
I’m a Barbie girl in a normal world.
Life in plastic…
fantastic is not the word.

Constantly getting judged
because I am a twin.
Because I am a blonde.
Because I am a Barbie.
I’m a dumb, know-it-all, Barbie.

Does that make any sense to you?
Cause even though I am a blonde,
and it might be different since my own mind is different
than a brunette,
it doesn’t to me.