As a seven year old, he wanted his room to be pink His parents laughed and said âPink is a girl colour, honey!â But goddamnit, he wanted a pink room âWhy canât a boy like pink?â He asked. His parents couldnât explain it. And so, after plenty of kicking and screaming And typical seven year old tantrums He found himself picking out a pleasant shade of fuchsia His parents hated it âWhat kind of son will people think weâre raising?â But he was happy. He liked pink. At eleven, he had a friend from school over The boy took one look at the hot pink walls and lost it âYou canât like pink! Itâs for girls!â His friend threatened to tell everyone in school About his âgirlyâ walls; like it was a terrible secret Like being a boy and liking pink was Some heinous crime And so, embarrassed The boy painted his walls again Blue this time; appropriate for a boy Correct. Normal. As a teenager, he played his part well; He joined the football team, Dated (and dumped) a string of girls, Bullied âthe faggotâ for wearing a purple sweater, He did everything that was appropriate Acceptable. Normal. But when he accidentally chipped the blue paint Removing a poster from his wall, uncovering That pleasant shade of fuchsia he chose As a determined seven year old, He felt a twinge of regret. Seven year old him was happy. Content with himself. The more teenage him thought about it, he realised He never really got the answer to his question.
Saheli W, Boy Colours