Pink

When I was a young girl
I hated all things pink;
It was the colour of weakness,
Of girliness and Barbie.

I preferred to dress in blue;
That was a strong colour
That could take me places,
Where I could be respected,
Opinions treated seriously.

I didn’t want to be pretty,
I wanted people to know
That I had intelligence
And wasn’t afraid to use it.

I was going somewhere;
Underestimate me
At your peril
Because the body
In these denim jeans
Belongs to a woman.

I realise now
That having it all
Is about who you are;
I am complete
As a woman ¬¬– strong,
Determined, smart,
Sensitive, caring and soft.

I have accepted pink
Back into my life;
I am strong enough
To wear cerise,
But don’t you dare look
At my fuschia breasts
When I am talking.

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