am i destined to be the color
of mahogany and burgundy?
skin soaked in blood of ancestry,
colors spanning the spectrum
and dripping down walls in a
veritable rainbow, i tell you
am i destined to always be the
screw-up, the failure,
the one that didn't succeed?
"success" can be twisted to
mean many things, but i get
the general gist of the way you
use the term, it is harsh.
i am the color of rusted blood,
of green copper and forest dirt.
it seems i will not leave before
i have found myself painted and
colored like a connect-the-dots
i leak red because i find myself
engrossed in the lives of those
i have created, but i intend no
happy endings for them.