Innocent Pink

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