lavender pink kissed,
sun setting behind pines,
dipping under mountains.
“No, honey!” the mother said
reaching across that table and plucking
a crayon from her daughter’s hand.
“The sky isn’t pink. Here,
use this blue crayon.”
The little girl blinked tears.
The teacher leaned over,
and studied the picture.
“What a beautiful sunset
you’ve drawn!” she said.
For Charlotte, who is teaching crafts at the art gallery, and is amazed at some parents.
I have a blue brow.
This certainly doesn’t indicate any blue blood (though my children can trace their patrilineal descent to Charlemagne four ways).
What it does indicate is a lack of care during the rinse cycle, I suppose.
As you know, from the photo at right, I wear coloured streaks in my hair. At present, all the lower couple of inches of my scalp all the way around is a fuchsia pink, and there are long midnight blue strips on either side. On the right it’s just above the ear, on the left it goes right up to the top of my head. (This sounds strange, but looks quite nice, and garners compliments all the time, so don’t worry about my sanity).
The top of my head is very white. (To effectively camouflage the instant roots I get because my hair grows so fast).
Usually, my brows are almost black (like my hair used to be. >>sigh<<) but lately half of one has lost its pigment. Today when I finished rinsing out the dye and blow-drying my hair, I looked into the mirror and discovered that my formerly white brow, is now blue.
I’m not sure what I think about this.
It’s not that I’m adverse to colour, obviously I’m not. Perhaps it’s just that this seems like an awful lot of blue. I usually wear blue mascara and eye liner, and the gem in my left nostril is blue, as well.
I like serendipity, though. It is what it is.
I suppose next time I could accidentally dye it pink…
Pink re-think? March 27, 2013
Tags: anti-bullying, bullies, hypocrisy, people of walmart, pink, prisoners, shirt
My shirt is pink!
That means I think each day about those wimpy nerds
who cry unheard in bathroom stalls
and that’s not all.
A pink shirt proves
I’m sensitive, to those less competitive
in this dog eat dog world of grinding cogs in
mean machines that devour
I wear a pink shirt
not to subvert the status quo
’cause don’t you know,
I hurt , too.
I hurt just as badly as you!
Those Wal-Mart bodies overflowing with fat
riding their scooters
Are too much of a hoot to resist staring at
and sharing to all five hundred of my Facebook friends.
Ha! Look at that
Why respect his dignity?
Why contain my bigotry?
Hey! I’ve been bullied, too!
I hurt just as much as you.
But that guy, seriously?
Why act so furiously at me?
Why are you lashing at my humour
I’m just laughing, I’m not some tumour
of society, I’m just a guy, so quit it with the anxiety!
Look, here’s a brilliant warden
who puts all his prisoners in pink. What do you think
of that? Anti-bullying, hard-labour, and bread and water.
I agree! I’ll share that will Facebook, see!
A prisoner should not expect respect
while serving time for their misdeeds, not rehabilitation
a trade, or improvement in his station. No, he should be humiliated
even if being affiliated with negativity destroys personal dignity.
They wear pink shirts and think of their hurts.
Just like me.
I think, in pink, that every day I have a choice
to promote or demote
to improve lives or remove lives.
To embrace what is different without mocking
to try talking with who’s different, in grace,
To show compassion, and kindness, and care
To keep my mouth shut, when I’m inclined to giggle
at the size of some butt,
not to repeat the smut.
Because, who knows?
Perhaps I’m peaking now,
and in twenty years,
my best behind me,
my butt expanding from hours at my computer.
When I want to shop I’ll be on a scooter at WalMart
still just as smart, ready with a kind remark
at bullies snapping my photo with their phone
mocking me, not knowing I was once just like them
condemned to future hurts,
by hypocritical displays
in my pink shirt.