my eyes are tired, my hands dirty

it’s been ten years since//my dolls have been hidden under//the darkness of my bed box, my self//too scared to let the world know//that they ever were my company//because who cares for a girl who is//only meant for imagining unnecessary things//like freedom and touching the sky//and pink is ugly and pink and stupid and who cares for pink and —

i can’t let them know that pink clothes are all i own and my sandals and my boots are pink too

it’s been five years since//my wardrobe has been dark//like my bed box where my barbies lay//hidden//i tell people my favourite colour is//grey, i am not sure//if it really is or if i am//convincing myself that pink isn’t it//i do not want to be mocked//for liking pink and barbies so i now like all things//dark, like poetry and art and rage and feminism and anarchy

and arson and rebellion and “modernity” and maybe i like pink again

five years later//my barbies are out of the bed box//i don’t know where one of their shoe disappeared//they are wearing dusty dresses//three of them are missing but//i wish them peace and//i regret ever hiding them//they deserved better//i am wearing pink clothes again//i support women in pink//i still miss my pink sandals and pink boots//mum says i loved them so much i used to sleep with them by my pillow//i don’t think i’ll ever love//an inanimate object//more than i loved them

i don’t know if my rage has left me incapable of ever loving something as much as i loved those sandals

i am tired of hiding//myself//away in the shackles of//bed boxes and pretending that//i do not listen to k-pop because//other people find it cringe//but i do not care anymore//this is a declaration for//my love of pink//the barbies i grew up with//the grey that comforted me when i was blind//this is a love letter to my rage//to the music i listen to//so what if i was a teenage girl//crazy over a bunch of men who only made music

i like what i like and other people can like what they like

i am sorry to the little girl who had to change who she was to fit in
but now i do not want to fit in
i want to close my eyes and wash my hands covered in the same dust my barbies laid in

i think my rage is never ending but my ability to love is trying to grow