“Don’t be scared.”
“Don’t be scared”, you say,
as you let your nervous,
adolescent hands
drift shakingly
through her
spun-gold hair.

Your mind has invented her over,
Recreated her.
What you see
And what she is
Are polar opposites,
Black and white.
For you, there are no grays
For her, there are
Pinks,
And golds
And
Yellows,
The color of that flower you handed her tenderly
The night
She disappeared
In your eyes.
She finds delights
In the color purple,
But you’ve condemned her,
Stereotyped her,
Attempted to stain that purple
With your shades of black.
                     She washes herself,
                     Scrubs until her youthful flesh
                     Is red and broken,
                     Erasing you.
But you are as permanent as a tattoo
She cannot scrub you off,
And the removal procedure
Is too painful and pricey
For her budget.

Smile, smile, smile!

She’s not pretty when she thinks.
This is a fact, you say.

Squish, squish, squish!

Your scathing glance is bruising,
Sharp words make her bleed.

This is a sign of weakness
That only you notice.

“Don’t be scared,” you say
A soft yet menacing anger
Lacing your words.

Scared?
If you truly looked into her eyes
You would know that
You
Are the only one who need fear anything.