Pinkest

She writes with the pinkest of ink,
that is also laced with white paint,
filled with the highest layers
of fairy tales
and stuffed bears.

She twirls in the pinkest of dresses,
sewn in threads of optimistic love,
lighted by the airiest orchid clouds
of white skies.

She’s the pinkest of them all—
adorned in lace and ruffles,
sick with kawaii and Disney.
She looks out the window, and sees only peace,
she goes out the door and shows only love.

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2022, in this composition book I had decorated with scrapbook paper. I’m still writing in that same book, I really need to fill it out. I haven’t really edited this poem that thoroughly, if you have any editing suggestions, I would love to hear them!