Work Text:
Again and again a familiar scene unfolds
A hand, a mirror, some powder and a raucous inner laughter.
It screeches, it hisses, it berates her,
a haunting, dark cacophony filling the air.
Yet no sound comes from the woman who stares
Eager to see what a reflection has to tell.
Will it be the same or should a different path unveil itself?
Green eyes and a quivering lip, shaky hands and an urge that just won’t quit.
A pause, then a defeated sigh, like all the times she’s done this before.
A loud and disruptive pink colliding into a calming white, thus the source of her never-ending plight.
But…
Must it always be this way?
A fraction always needing to be hidden in the shadows,
Pat it, cover it, seal it all up,
Till nothing but a flawless reflection that screams perfection rings out.
Shove it down,
swallow it all,
drown it out deeper
til its all but snuffed out.
Time and again she’s been told that this is what it is all about.
But…
Must it always be this way?
“Perhaps a new perspective is needed.”
Like waves smoothing out a shore did she persist in this new direction.
Why be perfect when there’s creative expression?
One… two… three, maybe more.
All tins of powder and foundation were thrown out the door.
There was no need for them where she was going.
There would be no need for them ever more.
Off she went shaky and uncertain,
Surely though this was better than the alternative.
That blouse and skirt she had thrown to the back of the closet in shame,
Were finally hers, ready to reclaim.
And so she donned the ensemble feeling quite bare,
For now she stood, front and center,
Making it very known she was there.
Arms exposed, legs exposed, no tights or sleeves would be found here.
“Simple and free and one hundred percent me.”
Deep breaths, deep breaths, then a confident stride,
She marched along with her head held high.
It was odd, it was different it was wildly free,
Yet care she did not, for the first time in so long,
She experienced harmony.
It was never about white versus pink, that much seemed to be true,
But at some point all the words thrown at her, forced her to subdue.
And what lay beneath it all was a shining star,
Begging to be let out, to play its part.
Embracing this new feeling was at the top of her list,
And to listen to her own words, not letting them get twisted.
The world had a funny way of making sure views were shifted,
But at the end of the day, one thing came to mind
She sat and she pondered and repeated the line,
Not a thing was bad about pink this entire time.
