I like the bright ones;
Pink, blue, maroon.
Sometimes I even go bold
And paint my nails yellow!
Mother hated the black phase;
Dad didn’t really understand the point of the nude one.
My brother still can’t believe
That I spend time and money on elaborate nail art.
But I like the colors;
They make my world bright.
Shiny, matte; I experiment with all of them.
Silver, gold; is there any color left?
I really can’t decide on a favorite.
The man outside the shop was waiting.
As soon as I turned to the empty alleyway,
I heard his footsteps hurrying behind me.
I heard his breath; raspy and uneven.
I smelt his smell; rum and cigarettes.
I felt his arms; strong and unyielding.
The struggle ended soon enough.
I didn’t expect to be this calm.
Stumbling, I reached the main road.
A woman passed by carrying a grocery bag.
She gave me an odd look;
I still had the rock in my hand.
Red, I think. That’s my new favorite color.
Note: An attempt at poetic “turn”.
The Writer's Nest 
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