Pink

Pink.

The color pink. 

That's all people think of when the four simple letters are said together as

one word…

Pink.

Pink, 

yet nobody sees

the chaos that the boundaries 

that might with or 

based off of what others say follows with pink and 

wearing it. 

To some to wear pink equals

a vagina,

boobs or simply put being a female,

having a boyfriend,

going through a week or at times a month

of blood pouring out you vagina

like red Kool-Aid out of a pitcher.

But yet, it is not the cause of the silent war

that goes inside of a man

before he decides to become a woman.

To become perfect 

as if we're perfect.

Pink. 

The store-brand pink. 

That's what people think of 

along with the older sister company, 

lingerie availability,

condom needing,

sex provoking, 

the necessary peevish definition of beauty teaching, 

the store where 

The Devil Wears Prada 

leaped onto like a flea 

when people my age and in my generation 

who don't know a damn thing about Prada 

went to think it makes them look cute. 

Just by wearing a bra or pair of underwear.

Always pure intentions come to keep that mindset,

 thinking I'm never going to show it, 

to only meet this cute boy that makes you want to show it, 

Victoria's Secret, 

you knew it;

but why do you keep it a secret?  

When the four simple letters that were

once pure like Snow White in my book when said together as one word. 

Pink. 

Pink.

The holiday of 

Easter bunnies or cupid on a shooting spree makes me self-conscious all of a sudden around you. 

You want to get me a box of chocolates because life is like a box of chocolates according to Forrest Gump. 

My one to get you a watch. 

Us wanted to spend money on each other, though

we normally don't say 

more than a high any other day, 

or kids sitting around a table and their Sunday's best 

dying regular boiled eggs or egg hunts in the backyard. 

That's all

people think of when the four simple letters are said together in one word. 

Pink.

Pink.

Yet nobody sees 

the two women 

I love more than anything in my whole life. 

Yes my mother the woman who birthed me, 

put up with me, 

just has stayed beside me longer than anyone has. 

I see my great- grandmother,

The woman that’s no longer here,

Who’s in a better place,

Who id wished I sat there at my graduation,

Which I know she was, but

That doesn't mean

I couldn't have hoped to see her.

God, I want to see you here so much.

The woman who birthed the woman before my mom.

Pink.

Pink.

I think of the damn

five years of my life once I got into school questioning myself. 

If I had the right to wear pink. 

See outside of my dad, 

I thought ho society wanted me to think. 

ONLY FEMALES WEAR PINK! 

Yet when I walked into the door people took a gun to that quota’s head and shot it nine times. 

Nine times like I was a cat that just wouldn't die. 

Nine times, one for each of the classes

 I took each day.

P.I.N.K.

Pink

when I think of these four 

letters I think of my favorite color, 

the only color 

I fell in love with like 

my first love 

Like a mother and a child after it came out 

of her womb after nine months.

The color other than 

giving the alternative for others

 to call me a fag or a pig 

cause I snot when I’m happy.

It's given me the insight to know…

to know I'm not white,

that I'm light skin,

that I'm black and 

the only way that I'll ever turn pink

is if you get down and dirty

with me

cause my outside appearance

It isn't the only thing that's pink.

Pink,

nobody stops and think,

nobody stops to signifies

the pain and altercations

that place with me every time I wake up,

every time gets hard for me.

Pink,

is the color of the pillowcase

I cried into

every night off and on

from 2012 till now

when I think I can't do anything and 

wanted to give up.

It's the color of the scissors

I keep looking at

the first time

I wanted to end my life.

Pink was the color of the pushpin

I thought would

Take my mind off of

the current pain

that is the local water

dripping off of the icicle

in the back of my mind

every time I feel anguish.

Pink.

Is the color my aura

if that even existed.

When I think of pink. 

I think of what I see when 

I go to my own funeral and spirit. 

It's the color of the dress 

I want to be buried when I die. 

I wanted to be the color of your roses 

I want to hold on the day of my wedding. 

Pink. 

When I think pink 

I think of the man I love. 

The first person I'm sure this poem with now. 

Pink. 

When I think of pink 

I'll now think of this poem. 

The 223 and counting different lines, 

the 10 and counting different stanza, 

the 1216 and Cutten words. 

Pink. 

Now hopefully when you think of 

pink 

You'll Think of Me.