I am Pink

I am pink.

The color of blood that has dried

countless hours on the pavement

after rights had been trampled.

It is also the color I see through. Red

no longer stirs the bull of men and

women into conviction, as it hence

stirred me into passion, waiting to be

absorbed by those who vision matched

my own.

Rosey is what they call it. I

call it my optimism that is so

often met with criticism, as

brown as what it is worth, aiming

to shrouds my hope with cynicism:

the color blue. True to the

antiquated idea that my life

is valued by those who's lives

make the world grey, the color of lies.

My grey is the suit of illusion

I wear everyday to show

I can adapt, with a yellowness

of the sunlight that radiates

through me. You can't see

purple royality that surrounds

me as the aurora circles half the

world. My light is not white, but

silver to reduces the infection of

the chronic bruise to my heart

and my ego, not yet learned to

change the color green to beige;

death by numness. But, I am pink,

from my vagina that gives life,

my tongue that takes it away, to my

eyes that can't see kindness, nor

my girly hips swinging into womanhood.

For I am black.

Black as the sky that covers the day in shame

for it's unfortunate gift of being a witness

that can't speak.

I am black and i can speak for you.