without you my wrist feels empty:
my partner-in-crime when i’m lazing,
soaked when i run in the rain,
hold my hair up when it’s blazing.
colour as arresting as a stop sign,
you don’t halt many in their tracks;
but from afar, people know me
from you. yeah, i think that tracks.
but at some point i have to wonder:
has the dye of your colour bled
into the pigment of my skin?
if you’re absent from my head,
will people still know who i am?
who am i without you?
am i remembered for my traits?
or will “who is she?” be my truth?
bought for only five bucks
are you a complement to me?
are you an addition to my look?
or a parasite that stole my identity?