My Favorite Color

As a young girl,

my favorite color was pink.

My dresses and skirts were all shades of Bubblegum.

And as I grew a bit older,

I noticed how subtler tones kept my eye.

The Blush of her cheeks as we ran through the field.

The Peach of her knuckles as she squeezed my hand.

The Rouge of her lips right before I shut my eyes and kissed her.

But after she pushed me away,

her soft pink turning a sick and disgusted green,

my favorite color became blue.

When I was a teenager,

My whole world was the open Sky.

Sapphires had always sparkled just as bright.

We “look good together,” they said and I sunk into blue

which matched my Steel-grey eyes.

I embraced Navy and spent the summer at the Pool.

The sweet Electric sounds of a guitar followed me at school.

I stared into Baby Blues, almost getting lost in the Ocean.

There were so many options and tones,

that I spent years exploring this one color

content in ignoring the rest of the rainbow.

Until one fit so perfectly

that I carried Hydrangeas down the aisle,

because blue is my favorite color.

Now, as a woman with a family of my own,

picking a color for the nursery,

I wonder why I think I have to choose.

Why I feel pink is the personification of embarrassment,

But blue feels a little too singular?

Gazing into the mirror with a color wheel in hand,

I finally remember the days of blush, peach, and rogue.

I was too young, too small, too subtle,

And no one told me I wouldn’t be alone.

I finally realize pink can come out from behind the blue curtain.

That it had been ok, is ok, to be a girl who likes pink.

And it has been ok to be a girl who likes blue.

The violet swirl created from both doesn’t have to be a bruise.

My favorite color is purple.