Pale Pink

He asks me if I want to talk about it
I tell him the color of my hair
I tell him what it will become
They matter the same, in my mind
I’m fairly certain that’s wrong
Who the fuck taught me that
And why does it have to be true

I’m thinking of pink
Pale, like the color of the sunrise,
Lighter than baby blankets

I probably won’t go through with it though
I’m not a coward, but I’m not good with people
I can’t predict the consequences

Maybe I’ll ask her tomorrow
I’m liking the idea of pink

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