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i want more pink in my life

i want more pink in my life

a man once told me




declaring for all to hear

“i am not like other men”

women, gather round,

you have nothing to fear


i want more pink in my life

you can trust me

i want more pink in my life

i’m a good guy, see


but what am i -

a woman -

to take away

from this 






this ridiculous claim 

you make

in an obvious attempt

to lower my defense


because you see,

what you think

about the color pink

tells me nothing about 

the way you speak 

about women 

when none are around to hear


or the jokes you make

at the expense 

of human beings

who happen to have breasts 

because you conveniently forget

we also have feelings


how much pink

exists or does not exist

in your pathetic existence

reveals nothing about 

the women whose bodies

line the pathway

of your past 


and how many of them

you were so quick to label 'crazy'

when it served you

to secure yet another conquest 


you’ve heard the phrase 

'silly girls'

too often to recognize



that we’re all too smart to fall

for such a pathetic attempt

at winning over our hearts

just so you can collect our bodies

like the toys you once played with 

as children 

and can no longer recall


instead, you dehumanize 



our loving open nature

as a weakness

for you to exploit 

a flaw in our design

the maker undone

by one simple man’s mind...


Ha! - i’d like to see you try.


so let me lay it out 

in a way you hopefully can understand

i’ll use simple language

after all, you’re just a man


you see, you don’t just need

a little more of the color pink

in that black and white view

you so desperately cling to  


you need an epiphany or two

to undo 

the brainwashing you’ve undergone 

at the hands of a society

for which the presence of a Pussy

erases one’s Humanity 


so try again, dear friend

man among men

to convince me

that you’re someone

worthy of my respect 

because so far,

i’m wholly unimpressed 

i don't want this body anymore

i don't want this body anymore

it’s too awful

too hated

too vulnerable 

too weak

i don’t want this body anymore

these breasts

the weight of a generation

crushing my chest

leaking tears

for the women

whose cries go unheard

stretched past their limits

to feed the men

whose wrath each

undeservedly incur

i don’t want this body anymore

these eyes

that belong in a bedroom

or is it the kitchen?

i’m confused

should i already know?

or just wait to be told?

by those whose eyes

are allowed 

to speak volumes

and with each glance

demand to be obeyed

at the expense

of the humanity 

my irises 



i don’t want this body anymore

this ass

that begs 

even -

or rather -


without my consent

to be




stared at


tell me...

what is the point 

of turning the other cheek

when both

paint an inescapable

target on my back


i don’t want this body anymore

these hips

which lie or don’t lie

in their turn

dependent only on

whose eyes

happen to be watching them move

As i try

to simply go about my day

live my life 


i don’t want this body anymore 

this gaping wound

between my legs

that will never heal

from the pain

of simply being

so easy into break

like a bank

or some other

useless capitalist invention

into which

even more broken men 

shoot their pain

and take what never

belonged to them

but should have

should have 

been safe


i don’t want this body anymore

it’s not strong

not loved

not respected

not safe

not safe


i’m not safe

inside this insecure form

that feels more often

like a cage

from which

there is but 



the failed audition

we share moments

we see glimpses

but the movie of our lives is captured 

with empty film reels


and all the extras are too busy

leading in theirs 

to care about playing a part

in our own


Lights. Camera. Action.




change the script,

try again.


just start right where you left off

what’s my line? oh, that’s right

“why don’t you love me”


exit stage left sobbing inconsolably


will she follow him...

that part hasn’t been written yet

but just wait,

you’ll get to see what happens next


all this effort

and for what?


each moment gone 

is lost forever

an unrecorded history 


captured by nothing

more than a

behind-the-scenes imagination 


a perverse inclination

to feed into the drama

at the expense of a happy

un-Hollywood life


you thought it would make you a star

all this pain

all your sorrow


you thought it would take you so far

but it leads to the same

dull end

regardless of the struggle

6 feet of dirt 

bury the lives

we outlive 


and the Blockbuster

each of us hoped to one day leave behind 

fades to a black

that will never give in 

my girls

My girls will not be called beautiful

... not by me.

My girls will never be told to act like a lady

or to seem vulnerable or meek.

My girls will not stay inside and play dress-up

while their brothers go out and compete for glory and respect.

My girls will never play second fiddle

to any man's best.

I will not teach my girls these lessons

no matter how much society rails at me to bend

I refuse to teach them their place

I refuse to acquiesce to the world's demands


I will teach my girls to shout

to make their presence known.

I will teach my girls to persist

to dismiss those who would advise them

to back down or give in.

I will teach my girls to be strong

when others believe that they are weak.

I will teach my girls to wreak havoc.

I will teach my girls to lead.

My girls will never find themselves

among the billions of women 

who have lived and died in misery

under the thumbs of

their brothers,

and fathers,

and husbands.


My girls will claw the eyes out

of the men who wish to harm them.

My girls will breathe fire

on the men who disregard them.

My girls will conquer continents

whose leaders promote injustice.

My girls will show no mercy

to a world that - for too long -

has been so recklessly pompous

and anyone,


who considers My girls

to be anything

less than human beings

will learn intimately

what it means

to be brought swiftly

to their knees

My girls

will fight to their dying breath

so that Every girl


will finally be recognized

by every man

as a person

in her own right.

i never wanted this

i never wanted

to be this woman

to fear

and hate

with everything i have

everything I am

i never wanted

to be so broken

to still not know

how much of my body

is covered

in undiscovered


missing pieces

of my soul

i'll be searching for

the rest of my life

and still

never be whole

i never wanted

to be homeless

in a borrowed body

i keep discarding

trying to get rid of the pain

of just remembering

your name

your perverse

claim to:


in the history of:

my life

i never wanted

to be the girl

whose past

destroyed all promise

of a future


multiple suicide attempts


self death threats

a heart begging for

the bliss of

eternal sedation

fully aware

of certain damnation

a festering internal mutilation

of the soul

the heart

the mind

anything i could get my hands on

to stop -

because i couldn't go back in -


and undo the first moment

i never wanted

to be alive

cultural differences

shrouded woman

a walking corpse

draped in darkness

from head to toe

in this passive crowd 

nothing more than

a gaping, empty hole

my eyes follow her person-less form

and i want to call out

to question

'are you aware of your bondage'

but then, i look down

and wonder...

am i?

dressed in too short shorts

and a blouse that is

too small to hold

the dreams i once had

for the way my life -

not my body -

would look

i don't know what her life is like

but i can't imagine it's fun or free

or anything resembling

the ideas i have 

of what a real life

should be

forced to hide her face

forced to feel ashamed

to cower at the whims of men

and give in to all their demands

so that she never forgets

her place

from what i can see

any choice is withheld from her

but then...

every choice is forced on me

choices are shoved down my throat

by men who are titillated

when i can't take anymore

and i finally choke

begging for air

desperate for a breath

that is truly my own

i'm quick to be reminded -

by men -

of all that i chose


in the cradle

with pink sheets 

and a pink bear

and a pink labia

labeling me

before i could even walk

'woman,' 'girl,' 'female'

a curse placed on me

by the pink fairies

that decorated the pink walls

of a room that the men

who sold it to my mother knew

would confine my dreams

as well as my body


at the age of five

watching princesses

get rescued and married 

off to whichever man

happened to come along

and i sat there wondering



at thirteen

with a head full of cosmetics

and empty of ambition

goals or dreams

that were stolen from me

in my sleep

the moment i hit puberty


the clothes in the girls aisle 

of every store i walk into

that expose as much flesh as possible

while every billboard and magazine


that women

real women

dress to seek men's attention

... and it's never too young to start

you -

at 13 -

can be just as 'important'

as me, see

all you need are these shorts

this ass

this bra

these breasts

and you'll be a real woman too

... whatever that means

for the barely-there women

whose existence is hidden,

choice seems nonexistent

but for women like me

whose skin is bared 

at every opportunity,

it will be the reason

we are eventually committed

this woman has gone insane

they will say






all the men to which

'by choice'

our lives,

our very existence

is committed

they will declare us legally insane

if we ever refuse

to keep playing their game

by the rules they make up

on a whim

because they can

and they have, and they do, and they will

because they can

two women

two completely different worlds

yet now i think i understand:

two sides

of the exact same coin

forgotten human beings

weighted down 

by the shackles of sexuality

that seem only to fit

the feminine - 

aren't we so lucky?

where my mind goes in the moments i surrender to what i know

i'm terrified of my mind

the constant push toward the edge

only to pull me back to safety

before tempting me again

what does it want

me to want

what would it like

me to like


lick / lack

licking / lacking

licked / lacked

lay - good or bad

lie - either way






no, die


is that all

i can do

to stop





this lie

i've been living

because the truth

is still too painful

even for a corpse

it cuts and it burns

through flesh and bone

until soul and spirit

are bleeding as one

bleeding into a universe

too full

to keep track of what has been done


what was 


to me


and now i'm


 and now no one's won

not one

to escape my body

i destroyed my mind

to escape my mind

i'll destroy my body

and still

nothing will have been


my white privilege family tree

my mother hid her hatred from the world

took it out on those who couldn't fight back

her progeny

her children

her mistakes

she made one by one

four and three on the side

but she still wasn't done

my father hid his shame from the world

everything he didn't accomplish


because he wasn't man enough

bold enough

daring enough


to do more than survive

a pinprick's more than

the Jones next door

my brother hid his anger from the world

hid it behind dropped-out-of-high-school-

with-nothing-else-to-do navy blues

hid it behind a false sense

of self-importance

a big dick measuring stick

that still wasn't long enough

to assess

how big of an asshole he was

and, in more way than one,

still is

my sister hid her pride from the world

pride in being born into gifts

and luxury she never earned

pride in her own perceived perfection

pride in the world's perception of her

and the love it gave her

for the luck and the looks

the light skin and even lighter disposition

that kept her that much safer

and as for me? well i hid just about everything

hid from the pain of having no choice

but to claim the only name

that i'd unwillingly been given


what kind of not-white-trash, but-still-somehow-trash-white-people name is that?

the lie of a name


my grandparents faked

when they came

from nothing

a world away

and i still hide

i hide behind the words i write

behind my dark eye


and dark curly hair

behind tan skin

and thick hips

hoping i'll pass for something other

than what i am

so that my face, my body

my life aren't tied

to a people

i've tried


to distance myself from

but somehow still end up

running in circles

only to find

that the poets were right:

you can never escape

what's inside

even if outside

is a ready-made

summertime dark-dyed


from what i can see

white people are just cowards

hiding in plain sight

and i can say that


like it or not - 

believe it or not -

i'm white

do not be afraid to cry


cry like no reason is needed -

it's not


cry like it's the end of a season

the death of your god


for the women burnt alive at the stake


like someone else is in control of your fate


for the heart broken at thirteen


for the child too afraid to sleep


for the other woman your husband left you for


like you can't take another step more




my sister


with the knowledge

that tears

do not make you a quitter

let not one more person

lie to you about strength

you know what it is

you have it in spades

your tears

are magic

in liquid form

your tears

quench wild fires

conjure unholy storms

healing and destruction both

in your eyes alone

the power is held

and the choice is your own

let live

or kill as you will

but always know

allowing even one drop to fall

with intention

with resolve

requires unfathomable skill

dishonest men chained you to the belief

that your tears make you weak

they do no such thing.

when finally,

you let the holy water you hold inside

pour forth onto unbroken ground

in truth,

my sweet sister

you are  a goddess unbound

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