I paint the chair red.

Red like the scraped knees of a crying child.

Red like the polka-dot pimples spread across faces,

Adding fuel to the fire burning in bullies.

Red for all the girls that have gone home with jackets tied around their waists

To hide from embarrassment.

For the anxious biting of my lips and nails, always chewing a little too far.

Just until they sting and throb.

I paint it with the red of my puffy eyes after crying through the night.

Red to remember the men that take up 77.9 percent of suicides.

Trapped behind misogynistic teachings like, “boys are supposed to be strong.”

I paint it red to tell the people that are dripping in pain that I’m listening.

Red to remind me of the violence going on around the world.

Red for the children hurting because of childish adults.

Red like the ketchup spread across our styrofoam lunch trays.

Fuel before the fight.

Red for all of the people with bloody knuckles and regret.

Take a seat and heal.

Red for the people mourning the victims of racial injustice.

Just praying for the inequality to end.

I paint it with the red fire burning inside of the women still fighting for their rights.

Red to remember the people that have lost their lives or a loved one to abuse.

Tired of hearing “just leave,” because it’s never that easy.

I use red to symbolize the people in pain across the planet.

Maybe my red-painted chair will be a place to sit and breathe,

A moment of peace in the chaos of this world.