Today I dressed in all
pink
because I made the mistake
of leaning in close
to the mirror.
I SAW my enlarged
extremities,
and the forced eruption
of my genetic impurities,
shouting
my ILL health
and bad habits
of hating myself.
So I muffled them
with sticky
lipstick
and concealer,
but they just made
their voices deeper
and CONCAVE,
taking in my gags
and hanging them
from my skin
because
that's mine.
And I put on a bow
to hide my forehead,
wishing that I was Muslim
so that I could wear a hijab
and have people
wonder if I was really
beautiful under there—
if people wouldn't scrape
the ground to wonder,
first,
if I was a terrorist.
But I AM.
And the terrors
of my self-restraint
make me preach
COURAGE
and tell people
they can be happy
even when they want to cry.
The pink.
To draw attention
away from my self-
centered
jealous admiration.
But I felt like a child
and my young self
was ashamed
to align to my side,
so I left the pink in
a crumpled HEAP
and borrowed black
to match the grease.