Pink - Cleopatra Sanchez

Pink is the color of the bows 

I put in my hair. 

That he pulled off of me

when he told me I’m pretty. 

When I’m with him I feel like clouds form in ways that make a beautiful sunset. 

Oranges, purples, and pinks. 

He makes me feel warm, like 

cherry blossoms in the wind 

on spring afternoon. 

Pink is the color that he tells 

me comes to mind when he thinks of me. I know he’ll never tell me how he feels 

because his Mother hurt him and watched him bleed. Just like that same cherry blossom tree 

when its flowers fell off and then it leaves. 

But I know he cares. 

Cares enough to talk about me. 

Tells me to be careful and is 

gentle when I tell him I’m hurt. 

Hurt by all the men that turned my pink into blue. Told me I’m a prude. 

Tore away the silver wrapping 

to my bubble gum body and made me feel empty.

Like I’m some kind of Taffy. They can chew right up and spit right out. Only pondering if pink was the color I would bleed. 

Or if pink would be the color of her pussy. 

After the rough winter, the cherry blossoms grew again. Leaving pink on every person that fled. 

So they could be caught pink handed 

on all the wrongs they committed to learn what pink 

really meant. 

So although my feelings for you are pink. 

It’s way stronger than you’ll ever know. 

Cause pink is what I took with me when all I felt was 

black and blue. 

Pink is girlhood. 

Pink is strength. 

Pink is all I’ve ever wanted to know. 

Letting you into my pink 

won’t be easy, but you seem to have let yourself in. 

Cause you’re also pink, I can feel it. 

So maybe you and I can begin.