Reclaiming Pink

Pink first lived

in a time

I could never admit

to owning,

before I realized

years weren't meant to be

off limits

even if their memories

destroyed the peace of ignorance.

~

I once assumed

responsibility

for the hauntings of truth.

~

Grey was my

safety blanket

when nothing felt right,

and it often did

as I embraced

the weight of dullness

because emotion

and sincerity

seemed completely foreign.

~

Sometimes, I cried

for forgiveness

of a sickness that wasn't mine.

~

Black consumed secrets

so cosmically

that I could forget

we were constantly warring

with the shame

of betrayed vulnerability

and, instead, collected

the impressions of security

through bittersweet disconnect.

~

I learned to only

trust myself because anyone else

would ruin us eventually.

~

White was a lie

concocted to hide the mess

of a fragmented time,

blotted with confusion,

because childhood

came later for the same reason

we never imprinted

vibrant, finger paint smudges

across our own canvas.

~

I clung carefully to a dream

that we could simply wash away

unwanted histories.

~

Pink thrives now

in a mosaic of colors

that are finally allowed

to take root and bloom

without unloved discomfort

seeping through

the honeyed musings

of a playful soul

rightfully being reclaimed.