Why do all colors have a description to them?

Red- For strength or anger
Yellow- For sunshine and happiness
Pink- For all girls
Blue- For the boys and for when you're sad
Black- For hate and fear
Purple- For luxury and ambition
Green- For nature and energy

We force people to be someone by giving them a label.
Should we do that to colors too?

Why should black be the evil one?
Why can't yellow be a way to express sadness?
Why is pink for girls?
Just why?

If I switched the letter, my name was Air.
I thought it might be a great thing to be the air.
I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.

-Aristotle and Dante discover the secrets of the Universe.
Author: Benjamin Alire Saenz.

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Under a spotlight where everyone knew my name...
I was five.

Now, I want shadows and to be as far away as possible.
Hidden and far from consequence,
And even further from myself.
Where my name is not a name,
But just another word without any true meaning.

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Now, I want to disappear.

I should have jumped overboard when I had the chance.

I hate the feeling of missing someone
It shows how weak you are

I hate the pain in my chest
when I think of the times I'm not going to be there with you.

I hate this feeling
The feeling of missing someone.

They don't feel like themselves
Not anymore
They were different once
Now, they are like a shell of their former selves
They fade into the background
And slip through the cracks
Haven't you noticed how they don't laugh like they used to
Or how they hardly eat anymore and then one day,
Eat too much
They're afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing
They can't help but apologize
Because everything is their fault
They've grown a protective shield around themselves
But they still let someone in
And then the last pieces of them get slowly thrown away
They don't know or understand how they've become like this
They don't know how they became like this, or when, or why
They only have the memory of who they used to be
Someone who was wild and open, who was down for anything
Who never had a bad thought
At the beginning sleep was still a refuge
It was like being dead, but without the commitment
But now, even sleep is hell
When was the last time they didn't wake up after a nightmare
They have nothing but the memory
Of who they used to be.