pink.

 

They wrap you in a pink blanket because that’s how it’s always been.
Your parents gave you a girl’s name because that’s what you were.

Colors were the first things to identify us,
and names would only further define us.
But what if I didn’t want to wear that dress,
or play with dolls,

or cook with mom?

I had my ears pierced before I could walk,
I “talked too much” before they understood me,
I had to pay my brother to play with me because he was embarrassed to play dolls with a
girl.
But he never had to convince me to play sports with him,
and I was the one that was called names--
act like a lady,
don’t get dirty,
fix your hair,
tomboy,
do not sag your pants,

you are a girl.

But who were they to assign me a color? or a name?
or a life?
They told me what I was, not

who.

Lights flicker on the screen and they tell me 
do this
be like that.
But my body doesn’t look like that.
They tell me I’m only a woman if I have something
to offer,

like allocated fat on my body
or in his food.
Because he needs the energy for sports,
and I just clean the dishes.
When will I be able to clean my chest of something that doesn’t feel right or shave my head
or feel normal?
When will my daughter be able to play with
toys
instead of
dolls?
When will my son stop being afraid of liking the color
pink?
And when will I no longer fear being engulfed by that same color
that identified
me?

I am not a “what”
I am not a color.
I am human,
I am “who?” 

 

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