‘I bring back my red lipstick-’

09/01/2026

2026.


I turn 28 in August.

I exhale.

I bring back my red lipstick-


not the timid kind,


but the kind that burns.


A brightness that dares the mirror to look back.

Is it too much?


Do my lips look like they’re bleeding,


or is this what it looks like
when I stop swallowing myself?

I bring back my red lipstick
 

to stain my mouth,


to bruise the rims of coffee mugs,


to leave proof in porcelain and glass
 

that I was hungry,


that I touched something,

that I lived loudly enough

to leave a mark.

Red as return.


Red as permission.


Red as a woman 

no longer asking.