I woke up in a bed full of pink
Polka dot pattern on the duvet
Pretty lace on the edges
Dolls and old ragged stuffed animals
I go to school
And I’m still pink
Pink aura
Pink handwritten notes
Pink bag
At the end of school I reside in a club room
That’s when I’m no longer pink
Because no one likes a pretty pink person
No one likes pretty pink rule abiders
No one loves pretty pink poetry
Or pretty pink books
I leave not knowing what I am
I leave feeling like I’ve found my people
But they haven’t found me
At the end of the day I sit alone in my pretty pink room
Wondering what I am
Wondering if I should rip up all my pink things
Wondering if I should kill the pink aura
The pink aura that festers and flutters inside of me
And emerge a new color
A cool color
A green
A blue
A black
A purple
Or at least a pink smothered in gray cigarette ash
Or a pink with red bloodstains on it
Or a pink with brown ugly dirt on it
But at the end of the day I am still a pretty, soft pink
With too big of a heart.
I wish pink was a nice color
I wish innocence was encouraged
But wishes don’t come true
And pinks can’t become any other color
They just stay the perfectly same
I wish being pink was loved
I wish being pink was sexy
I wish being pink was cool