What they don't tell you about wearing red lipstick is how confidence will radiate from you. Your lips stained scarlet as if you had just got done kissing a vampire—or you're the vampire. Now wouldn't that be something? Funny how being Vampira for a day feels pretty damn cool. It's empowering, confidence oozing from your pulsing veins for the first time. Not an ounce of yourself feels like the girl you were in elementary school. You've made it so far since then.

You were always the kid that felt judgmental stares from your peers. All you wanted was to turn into mist and become one with the shadows when people glanced or whispered your way—always afraid of what they had to say. You remember friends informing you all the boys in your class thought you were too fat or that you weren't pretty enough. You were bullied, an entity of mockery. Your view of yourself was diminishing by the day.

You learned, however, that fat isn't synonymous with ugly. Yet you still struggled to ever love yourself. You'd look in the mirror at department store changing rooms and you'd cry at what you saw. You yearned to replace your body with someone else's because, to you, your body wasn't good enough.

You weren't good enough.

You wanted to blend into the background and be forgotten. Just enough so you didn't have to feel the ominous presence of your peers' eyes on you. To encompass every beige and neutral color into your being so you would never stand out. To be completely forgettable. The idea of lipstick—colorful lipstick at that—was fear because all eyes would be on you. The judgmental stares like hot coals on open wounds.

Yet, as you got older you began to cherish your body, your only body, as a divine object. You only get one, you think to yourself, might as well treat it right. You find a russet matte lipstick called 'Plath' and Lord knows if that isn't a sign to buy it then what is? Your newfound confidence makes you step outside of your comfort zone. You welcome color into your life again. And this lipstick was just another milestone on your road trip to self-love.

What they don't tell you about wearing red lipstick is how the reaction is odd, to say the least. Your friends will "ooo" and "ahhh" at your new look for the day. They'll support your confidence because it makes them proud of how far you've come. But others, specifically guys, will get weird. You'll scare the living shit out of the guy in your public speaking class. He will literally jump back and yelp a little.

Then he'll inform you that you "have makeup…on your mouth."

Wow, no shit.

The cashier at the coffee shop will ask you when you became goth. He'll point out how you're wearing all black, although you wore this same outfit last week and without any comment. He'll then point out that you dyed your hair black, but no. You didn't. Your hair has always been a dark shade of brown that, in certain lighting, appears black. So, no. Not really new.

"Oh," he'll say, "I guess it's just the lipstick."

You'll be confused, but you'll brush it off. You're confident, remember? Other people liked it. Ignore the strange comments. So, you'll pull out your phone and take a selfie and feel pretty for the first time in months. You upload it without a second thought because you don't want to go back into the shell of the girl you used to be.

That is until a blue speech bubble pops up from your friend. He writes, wow, you've really changed. You're confused because how did in the span of a week, at most, did you change? So, you ask. He says you just have but don't worry, he likes it. You don't know whether that's good or bad. You weren't looking for an approval, you just wanted to try something new. It was weird thinking how you could put on something as simple as lipstick and someone's perception of you changes. And you still don't understand the correlation between personality and red lipstick. Or how wearing a brighter, richer color makes you change. You think you might be overly sensitive to the topic.

What they don't tell you about wearing red lipstick is how people will treat you differently. There's no reason for it. People just attribute the color red to being "a slut." You don't know why and the looks you receive make you feel exposed—raw. Like you're an animal in the zoo ramming at the glass as people stop and gawk at you. You itch to get out of your skin. Fuck, I thought I was past this shit.

You look at your reflection and wonder why red is synonymous with harlot. You wonder why you used the word harlot because now you feel like an eighty-year-old woman. You breathe. You try to forget the normally kind checkout lady as she gave you a disapproving look and told you to be careful. You try to stop repeating the memories of self-hatred and trauma from simmering to the surface of your mind.

Please stop. You don't want to remember. You want to be this new version of yourself; the girl who's confident and happy and doesn't hate herself and doesn't replay the various things that you have endured months, even years ago in her brain. You want to be free of this pain but it feels like everything is connected. That a domino effect has taken place and you cannot undo what has been done. You feel like red stains you. The color branding into your brain; like you're to blame for all of it.

What they don't tell you about wearing red lipstick is how you wish you could forget for a day and live without regret. Bright lips reflecting how you yearn to be; normal girl letting the sun absorb into your skin on a spring day. Not having to worry about thunderbolts and lightning striking you down until you feel near lifeless in the puddle of your own disgust.

But, somehow, you find the strength to pick yourself up again. You're bloodied and scraped and you feel like hell. Your mental scrapes and scratches are red—glaring at you. A reminder of what you've endured and what you've survived. Your battle wounds and armor lay out the map for your future confidence. You can do this. You know you can. You stop internalizing all of this and have your confusion manifest in the words in your notebook because you deserve happiness. You deserve to feel like you are enough.

What they don't tell you about red lipstick is that you'll always be too much or too little. Under analysis from seasoned professionals on lipstick—or subtle misogyny. Take your pick. You get more agitated now, wondering what the hell's the big deal with lipstick? It's fun. It's creative. It's you. You always came in with lips in corals, and mauves, even bubblegum. Lipstick was your subtle way of self-expression. No one gave a damn when you wore the subtle colors of femininity. The soft nurturer, the emotional maiden, the damsel in distress.

You're expected to be silk and porcelain—never to leave your ideal appearance. But you aren't silk and flushed pinks or a damsel in distress. You are a canvas of the warrior in your soul, the flame of your being—burning wisps of red embers against the colors on your canvas.

What they don't tell you about wearing red lipstick is how it's the type of love you feel when you start to love yourself.