Filed under Poetry

An Ode To Red Lipstick | Amy Lloyd

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You begin with a shiny cage, which is black as licorice. Your rigid shell has hardened over time, thrown from bedroom to bedroom, pocket to pocket, but still protecting the colour inside. The rectangular structure squeezes into the tightest compartments, from denim to cotton, with some force, you always fit. Between your base and top, there is a thick, reflective golden line, where I can see a sliver of myself. My face appears determined, I am focused. Blank, and ready to paint. Your top is removable, when taken off, I see bold red. This red is hidden, but when exposed, you scream to any passersby, halting, they stop to stare.   

The intensity of you confronts me. I go from a dull, grey shade to a theatrical, vibrant colour. This dark, dramatic red can offer definition and outline to my character. If applied correctly, the lower-centre of my portrait becomes energetic with a powerful presence.  If not, I can appear as canvas, which a four year-old has scribbled on, confused and messy. You can be expression of personality. Confrontational, creative, and confident. I am a storm of chaotic gracefulness when I wear you.  However, you can be inappropriate, like wearing sweatpants to prom. You, unfortunately, can be too forward, too lavish for your environment. Blindly, I apply you with no reflection needed. You are worn. Before your tip was sharp and defiant, but, through time it has been dulled to recognize my face. As I trace you across my portrait, I transform. I walk with confidence. I speak with poise.  I trust your colour. I trust you will wear me well.

I wear you for you display the feelings I wish to share. These feelings are daring and rumble through streets. When I wear your red,  I make people listen.

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