Red lipstick, sexy and bold.

Red lipstick, my confidence, my independence and so much more.

Red lipstick, my pride.

A symbol for feminism.

Yes, I am a woman.

And that’s brilliant,

At least within the four walls of this room.

Red lipstick, but my boldness is defiance.

Red lipstick and I’m a rebel.

But the standards of society were never made for someone with my anatomy.

So I carry this body in proud rebellion,

With a red so bold it hurts your eyes.

Red lipstick and all heads turn.

Red lipstick and suddenly I’m a whore.

I walk out and my pride is turned to shame,

With eyeballs glued to my body like a moth on a flame.

Red lipstick and so I’m asking for it.

Red lipstick and I crave attention.

But the colour on my lips and the clothes on my body did not symbolise consent.

The red on my lips was never a signboard that read ‘public property’.

Red lipstick a blessing,

Red lipstick a boon.

Just like being a woman.

Being a woman in this world,

Where the organs you were born with decide your place in society.

My red lipstick, I still carry with pride.

Because by now I have learnt to fight.

Although, it’s a shame that I should have to at all.

It’s a shame that the little girl on the street should have to,

Or that old woman who sits at the paan shop.

It’s a shame.