pink is the colour
of bare, fresh skin
not yet ready
to be touched by
the airs and the graces
of the world
it is the colour
of strange hair
bleached and stained
in a fit of madness
again and again
until it defines
the unloved
pink is the colour
of love and of hope
a thousand cards
for mid february
sent between lovers
with soaring hearts
the colour of childhood
for half of us
at least
dainty shoes and socks
kicked about
tossed asunder
for nobody wishes
to be so constrained
pink for pain
for madness
for heartache
for reverting
to childhood
because i do not know
how to live
