I used to wear all the colors of

Hatred and love

Only in private,

Safeguarding them from

The tainted grasp

Of other hearts.

They told me

My feelings made me fragile,

And so

I bleached the colors away

The best I could.

But I failed in cleansing myself

Of their impossible burden

And faint remnants of their existence

Left splotches on my skin,

Showcasing that

Ugly frailty

To whoever looked in my direction.

I washed

Over and over

And over and over

Until my hands were raw,

And my skin,

Cracked and crimson,

Bled from the friction.

Nothing I did could erase

The pigments I bore unwillingly.

I vowed to rid my body

Of the hues others deemed as

Undesirable.

I dyed myself with

Trendy colors,

Those that I thought

Would flush away

The tremendous weight of

Love and hate.

But I looked in the mirror

And I couldn’t recognize

The shell that it reflected.

I checked in every plate and every spoon,

Every car door and every shop window.

I checked in broken mirror

After broken mirror,

For any signs of life,

For any part of me,

But there were none.

In dyeing,

I died,

And only the vague idea

Of who I once was

Remained,

A stain that faded,

But never quite washed away.