What I really want to say is that I hate pink.

I hate the vibrance that I have to claim that brings me vain.

I hate the pink that I have to wear every day in order to be seen as a person.

I hate the color that I have been assigned when my heart started pumping blood, the color that no one knows drags me in the mud

I hate the fleshy, salmony, and rosy color that forces me into a position that I most hate.

I hate the fact that I’m supposed to love the color pink despite the fact that it makes me want to run.

What I really want to say is it I hate the color pink. 

I hate how it makes me feel, the way it makes me doubt, and makes me fear that no other peer would understand. 

What I really want to say is that I hate pretending to be the color pink. 

The truth is that the color pink puts smiles on faces and runs with them on the playground til the day they lie on their deathbed. 

The color pink stuck with me when I first entered the world, when I smiled, when I laughed, when I cried, when I began to make friends, and when I introduced myself. 

Except I don’t want to be stuck being the color pink anymore.

Because there is no hatred like mine for being the color pink.

What I really want to say is that the color blue sounds more fitting.