Blogtember #20: Back in Black

I have no idea when I received this bottle of black nail polish, but I know it was before I moved to NYC, so that makes it very old.  I noticed it has started to take a turn for the worse, and decided it needed a proper send-off.

Black is the color of sadness.  The color of punk rock.  The color of chic. 

The color of sheep.  I am, without a doubt, the black sheep of my family.  I often gripe that they don’t understand me, but I think they actually do.  It was my mother, after all, who gifted me this black nail polish oh so many, many years ago. 

I don’t always paint my fingernails black, but when I do, you can bet it’s for a reason.

Sometimes, I am depressed.  I paint my fingernails black to tell the world there is something sad inside me.  I am all colors, I am the absence of color, I cannot express, inside I am black.

Sometimes, I am angry, defiant, punk rocker.  I am Johnny Rotten, screaming “No Feelings!” into the microphone.  Accent nail of choice?  Middle finger, of course. 

Sometimes, I just feel good.  I feel myself.  I feel strong, bold, confident. 

Whenever I feel so undeniably me, you can bet I’m back in black, baby.

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