Interplanetary: Mars {5/9}

Seeing red. Mine. The dust that clings. Ancient history and the present comingled in a handful of spall.

I lost my protective layer long ago. I gave up trying to repair it, trying to seal the cracks and hold it in place. Struck again and again and again, my shell shivered one last time and I let it fall away. There I stood, arms spread and feet wide, face tilted to the darkness and my throat a gaping tunnel of sound. "Take me," was my howled command. They acquiesced. They descended: Solar winds and radiation and bombardments. Whip, burn, pummel. My skin: raked. My mind: corroded. My will: hollowed out.

So tell me how it is that I am named the war-maker. Deemed inhospitable. Assumed to travel an aggressive orbit.

Is it because I leave a wake of crimson as I cross your path, flashing my ruby eyes and flaring like an ember puffed by the bellows as your gaze follows me?  It wouldn't be the first time a flame of passion has been mistaken for a streak of anger.

But listen closely. Look closely. Step beyond the boundaries of what you think you know, of your assumed truth. Surrender the need to be right.

What if my drums are for dancing, not marching?

What if my my voice is for exclaiming, not shouting?

What if my hands are for building, not breaking?

What if my heart is for loving, not fearing?

What if I am the answer you have been seeking?

Your bloodshot eyes are trapped on the surface, so look with something that allows you to see. 

Because this is red. Mine.

Soundtrack: Bauhaus, “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything”