Pink Reduction

My ancestors divided the world into four colors

— And they split me in two

A brown baby born in red with a shock of black hair

— But they could say I came out pink

Pink in my mestizaje

— In being mixed blood

All the world is about blood for you

I don’t know if my ancestors are the ones who sacrificed beating hearts

— With black obsidian blades

I only know the ones who sailed over with a coat of arms

— That was used to defend evangelizing so much

— they eradicated our own history

They reduced the New World to white and red

— And I came out pink

Then more of them reduced the world to two colors

— And again I came out pink

Nothing about me is pink

The folds I have are still brown

— Even when they don’t see the sun

I didn’t want pink

I wanted blue and purple

I want to be brown

I want to scream against being reduced

I want green snakes to shoot out of my curls

— And tell the world who the fuck I am

I am not pink

I am brown

I am a woman

I am not pink

I am not a girl anymore

I am not pink

I protested pink as a child

I didn’t want to be feminine

— I wanted to be strong

I didn’t want to be a girl like the rest of them

I didn’t want frills or poofs

I wanted to be strong

One day I would learn that I could be feminine and strong

I could be strong because I was feminine

— (even before I knew what a femme I am)

But before I could learn that

I learned I could love feminine in others

When a red journal with red stitching and red ink housed my first crush confession to someone

— who was also supposed to be pink

I knew I liked boys

I discovered I liked girls

I would learn there were others to like too

I would stitch pink, blue, and purple on a hoop

— A feminine pastime

To explain my femme self

A stripe of pink

— To explain I was still learning

A stripe of blue for what I have known

— And what I had been told

A stripe of purple for all that is out and in between

All three for me

— and yet I protest threesomes

All three to say that this is not for you, it’s for me

All three are mine

There is nothing pink

— In what you’re saying about me

— —Telling me

There’s only pink in what I choose

Pink comes back to haunt me

— And we’ll be friends on our own

— But not because of what you’ve told pink about me