I think Pink has possibly become my new favorite color.  The pinks of sunset, the pink of my hair.

I've always loved the classic look of black and pink together...I would love to do a whole room (in the dollhouse no doubt!) with a black and pink room...yes, maybe even with polka dots!

Pink represents Breast Cancer.

Pink is the symbol for little girls.

Pink is all the secret places locked inside of us.

Pink. It's good to be Pink I think.

We, as women, bleed Pink. We feel a sensitivity, a need, a desire to wrap up the hurts of others in our arms and blow softly our pink kisses until it's all okay again.

We are strong and powerful and passionate and so fucking smart.....we handle the toils and troubles of life...we balance children that we carry in our wombs and suckle at our pink nipples, we carry the badges of honor that those stretch marks leave raked across our bodies and in time...they turn pink.

We kiss boo boos and skinned knees and wet cheeks with our pink lips.

We rant and rave and scream at the injustices of the world....and eventually, our anger turns from red to pink. And the storms pass and all that is left is the pink of the sun setting over the horizon. And when that new day arrives...it arrives in a brilliance of Pink.

I think if you were to cut me open...you would find that I bleed Pink.

I even burn pink apparently.  LOL And it stings and its hot to the touch making my whole body go into a pink flush, until the pink fades away once more.

No matter what life throws at me, no matter what I seek to accomplish in my days and my nights...at the end of it all....I am a woman.  I have feelings and needs and heartaches and body aches that no man could ever understand.  He does not bleed pink.  I have yearnings and stirrings and longings that are not even understood to my own self...but that's okay because in the pink haze of my dreams they will all come to light.

My touch is pink.  It is gentle and caressing and stroking...listening to the needs of the body that it touches with pink fingertips.  And those best kisses....are pink.They are tender and moist through parted lips with pink tongues with pink questions and soft pink moans.

It's okay to be pink.  It's okay to feel alone, to feel lost and unsure of what ground your feet tread upon.  It's when everyone else forgets that you are above all else a woman no matter what role you may play.  It's okay to need to be held.  It's okay to close your eyes and feel the steady drum drum drum of someone's heart and it's okay if their heart is pink too.  It's okay to need to be kissed in the nights long embrace, it's okay to need to be kissed in the full light of the day. It’s okay to cry in tears of pink...your eyelids threatening to release the hurts of your day and the hurts of your heart.  Sometimes these are tears of just absolute frustration...sometimes our eyes mist in the pinks of love and joy when we watch our children grow and evolve and become the beautiful tender pink innocent souls that your body thrust forth into this world in a sea of blood made of pinks and purples and reds. 

Women suffer in pink.  Our bodies often betray the years of abuse that leave hideous gaping, deep pink scars.  Most of the time, those pink glaring scars are only visible to us.  For those around cannot see the pink.  They don't feel the pink.  They don't know the taste of pink on your tongue after biting your lip, to refrain from screaming why doesn't anyone hear me?  Or why am I so disposable?  Or why can't I just get this right?  It's not THIS hard...I know that.  And so do you.  My beautiful pink women who dare to make pink wishes and who dare to fall into wishing wells and turn and twist in the pink cast of the shadows. 

Pink is not fatal.  It's okay to bleed pink.  It's okay to BE pink,  I think.