Butterfly wings.

Run your brush across my skin,
leave behind butterfly wings. Paint me Red so I can be the evening wish and morning storm.
Leave one wing whole and one wing torn.
Use the darkest red you can find to paint my heart,
the lightest for my spirit, to set them apart.
Let the flames of my hair fall across my eyes,
paint them just so, to reflect that I am shy.
Draw flames vining across my toes,
In crimson red so I’ll always know
the devil once held me against the flow.
Admire now your creation
the art of life creates elation.
The finishing touches a sparkle of glitter across my skin,
and crystals formed of butterfly wings.

Karen Hayward 2016.

Red running through my soul.

I want my hair to be

a deep auburn red,

my eye’s sparkling blue

and glittering shoes.

I want a red lace dress

that clings in all the right places

and twirls over my hips.

I want to dance.

I want to feel the beat in my soul,

slow and sensual.

I want to become lost

in the notes as I

dance through the words.

I want candles flickering

in the moon light,

as the sky weeps for

the dying stars.

I want to dance.

Forever in a mess.

When i was young,
And having fun,
I’d pour thick black dye,
Over my golden curls,
That fell to my thigh.
I’d watch it
As it hit,
The side of the bath,
And laugh,
At my messiness.
Later, as it dried,
i’d hear my dad curse,
as he scrubbed at the wall,
And the little black spots,
that wern’t playing ball.
Now, i’m an adult,
With a bottle of red,
and i remember the words that he said,
As i scrub at the walls, the floor and the tiles,
I can’t help, but smile,
My shoulders are red, my arms a delicate design of red vines that spread across my chest,
I’ve never known anyone,
Get in such a bloody mess!