Dream of Me In Black and White

You can only see me in colors that you can handle in colors that you choose yourself, colors that you put me in, and force me to wear, every time you look at me with your piercing eyes. And it makes no difference what I wear, how I paint my nails, what shoes I put on, or what color I dye my hair. All you see is Black and White. Because that's all you choose to put me in. No matter how vibrant the colors I sport, it's still Black and White. the easy-to-read, easy-to-control colors that really aren't so easy at all. I'm complicated. And your Black and White is simple, easy for you to see, easy for you to understand, easy for you to make me be. easy for you to stuff me in your choice of clothing, make me into your "perfect" girl, your little Barbie doll. you say that it's "your right" and that you have "earned" it with what? certainly not respect. you say that it's "fair" for you to be this controlling, this demanding, this emotionally abusive. but when I say something about it, you counter-act. "If life is so fair, why do roses have thorns?" you ask me as you are mentally counting, measuring, calculating, and documenting everything wrong with me. as you are mentally molding me, shaping me, and dressing me into your favorite Black and White. it's easy to pretend that you're not looking at the girl next to me, wishing that I were her, when you put me in Black and White. You can take your habits and selfish, demeaning ways, and stuff some other girl into your chosen Black and White. because no girl, it seems, is quite good enough for you, and your double standards, and your controlling fingertips that know just how to press in on a girl's heart, mind, and soul. And yet, you manage to make every girl ask herself if she's good enough for you. But the real question still stands. Are you good enough for any girl?