Cinderella Red

Her hair was red, frizz with frost Crisped, solidity, warmth was lost Porcelain skin, eyes of deep blue Hair falling in wisps, reminds you of someone, you likely once knew how her voice danced, twirled dangerously in a box of concrete and bricks, the soft patters of her socks on the ground of the gym, you had admired her pace she was frivolity, not a single strand of haste born light, a light she had raised tenderly, carefully, creating her grace learning to sing, to talk soft whispers that everyone hears, that everyone hears. Her voice, less spoken, now lies In the grass, strangled and trapped, From the corner I spy She had been happy, so happy, its profound She was always so quiet, yet her image so loud So soft, she screams, as she walks past your way I hear, I do, but little do I say Smudge, like a smudge, when you breath onto frost A small dollop of black, perfect eyeliner was lost Frosty blue, she wore, frosty blue It matched her skin, like most, this did too Her boyfriend, he was rotten, A nettle that might sting But her frost blue, believed A wedding ring he might bring As she waited, patiently, legs crossed Her frost blue tint, seemed to be lost Has it fallen, Ill check, When she finally clears When the small crowd moves, and I can go near She waited, smiling blue, rooftop high He said he would meet her, sticky red she would cry Frost doesn’t settle, on surfaces wet But ice does smother, on the fate she was met She had stood, abrupt, on the rooftop that morning Just a day after, I had heard, her silent little mourning Her dress that day, so pretty, emerald green Not blue, but it matched, her porcelain gleam She stepped, or leapt, at the least she travelled not far, The ledge fell behind her, but did not dent a single car Yet neither did she, as her limp bodice fell Rested silently at once, like a twisted fairytale Cinderella found no prince, for he matched her sister Who cut of her toes, for him to kiss her She was less perfect, much so, indeed But she was louder, fiercier, more open to greed Poor little Cinderella, her life was pure hell But the trips to the furnace, meant her skin did stay well And her work in the dumpsters, meant she found quite the bargains In makeup and clothes and books, so her appearance never faded But inside she felt broken, he made her whole But her sister was entitled, to the entirety of her soul So little Cinderella, whose skin looks so white Lies quietly beside, the schools parking site.