A Lady At The Masquerade (You Don't Belong Here)

In A Room of Red Dresses, I picked
Yours
Was a pale, fainting blue.
Nothing more than a picnic dress.
Defiance of the most humble kind.

As the Red Dresses scoffed behind their painted ceramic masks,
You held composure and pride in what you had and who you were.

I liked that.

While the Red Dresses spoke Hyena to you,
They "accidentally" spilled their glass of jealousy over your elegant "rags"
But, the blood of your social slaying didn't hinder or cannibalize you;
You refilled her glass.

I loved that.