Someone once told me I was not colourful.
In the way I
Laughed,
Danced,
Spoke.

When I sought out something to fill my pages,
I found you fit the bill.
In the way you left me
Bruised,
Broken,
Defeated.

I looked in the mirror,
And I saw it.
My colours
Black,
Blue,
Crimson red.

Someone told me I needed to wash you away,
That I needed colours,
Not shades:
Destructive,
Controlling,
Loveless.

I keep scrubbing and scrubbing,
Just to get you away.
But the
Scars
Wont
Fade.