STREAKS OF RED

Everywhere I go, everything I touch, everything I speak of, leaves traces of my past. I leave red traces of me, like lipstick on a champagne flute. It never stops. It's like the scent of sin is on me. Sins of a sister, blood traces of a mother.  I try to wipe it away, but like paint it stays. I try to fight it, but I can't. I can't help who I am. I can't help who I am. Like a broken record it repeats in my head. But like red paint it tells it all. The other species don't want me. But the one in the same accepts me. Just the way I am. Affection covers me, like the warmth of a blanket on a baby. I can't help but to surrender.