Pink

Laila Knight / 11

As a little girl I hated the color pink,

now I lock myself in my room covered 

in seven shades of pink 

and glitter on the walls.

My nails feeling bare without polish

My neck feeling naked without jewelry

I grew up thinking being a woman meant to be fragile,

to be quiet and boring

is to be a woman who is loved.

As a little girl I hated the color pink, 

it felt too delicate.

I would play in the mud and let the dirt 

sit under my nails.

Denying bows and sparkles

I wanted to feel powerful and independent. 

Pretty was just an afterthought.

I speak my mind 

with the same aggression and hostility boys do.

Cutting through with my words, 

only the blood was not pink.

I suffocated them with my opinions.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to mute myself.

I began to enjoy wearing jewelry, and painting my nails.

I learned I was not becoming weak.

To be stereotypically feminine can mean to be strong.

Don’t erase your femininity to be seen as a force of the world.

Sometimes I remember me as a little girl

I wish I could braid her hair

and tell her that you can be pretty,

without diminishing all that you truly are, 

although a part of me doesn’t fully believe that.