Red

I do not paint my lips for you.

I do not care to dwell

on the passing thoughts of strangers.

Who are they to tell

what the outside reflects,

what the outside sells

to bidders in dusty auction rooms

looking out from aged cells?

*

This false colour to my cheeks,

the glow of polished shell,

is not a flushed response to your attention

nor your fallaciously flattering yell.

It is not my job to please you

and not my intent to compel.

My quiescence is not compliance;

Don’t make my valorous steps hell.