My name is Yellow.
As in the skin I bare,
and the heart beneath.

Yellow,
like the perfect grades,
and the failing student.

Yellow,
like the title stripped from my father,
and the title he wishes to strip from me.

Yellow,
unlike the parents,
and the silent daughter.

My name is Yellow.
And I am proud.

I miss you,

every day a bit less
but I still do.

It's like an asymptote,
closer and closer to 0.

But never 0.

Tiny crescents lined
on my pale pink skin;
rosy moons hanging
above shaky lips.