she is blue electric music.
she is cocktails and bright neon lights and classic cars and pastel smeared colored flowers.
she is the childhood dream of becoming an international pop super star, she is elongated youth, she is unrestricted laughter and face numbing grins, she is the gust of wind in your hair and the taste of cold water in your mouth.
but when she steps of out of her room, she steps out of herself.
she becomes tight-lipped smiles and rigid postures.
she becomes the somber ambience of lost love
and the humidity of the rain.
she becomes controlled laughter and nervous eyes and pacing heart and the constant berating of her own character and physique.
she becomes anything but herself.
she wears a shield.
it is thick metal armor and covers her from
to protect her from society and all it's institutionalized normalities
on her weight
and her body
and her hair
and her face
and her actions
and what she should
and should not do,
and from it she develops a growing fear,
it is intangible
but it weighs her down
on the inside,
threatening to eat her alive.
so she continues to paint herself with a color that does not belong to her, and the act itself is something so constant, something so routine,
that she doesn't know
where she begins
and where the colors end.