Red like the blush my face has been powdered in: elegant.

White like the war-waging winter seen from home

Blue like the blood within my veins and unfreezing rivers.

Colors of my country, like my feathers: perfectly placed.

Red like the kisses of mother and the power I was promised.

White like the flag I’ve drawn high above my childish head.

Blue like my cheeks when my fresh life has been distorted.

Colors of freedom stripped, as are my cared for feathers.

Red like the coffin, my bijou-like body has been discarded.

White like the mold that blankets my bare, fragile skin.

Blue like my strained, depleting view of the far sky.

Colors of the world out of reach, taken before experience.

Red wound since dried as my feathers have been plucked.

White hand above my paper prison, leerning down on me.

Blue like the tears that I am not unique to experiencing. 

Colors of a burning country, liberty and justice for none.