Pink blooms,

In the careless joy of spring flowers,

A mockery of hope,

With each delicate pedal.

In the vibrancy of pink,

I think of cut out paper hearts,

Of love and tender kisses,

A love that curdles into a hollow ache.

Cotton candy spun from dreams,

Dissolves on my tongue,

Leaving behind a bitter aftertaste.

For dreams, I’ve learned,

Are cruel and unattainable.

Everywhere, pink whispers,

Promises of brighter days,

A future painted in the blush

Of newborn cheeks.

Pink, a constant reminder

Of what I cannot hold,

A wishful thought, blown away with the breeze,

For a life that I can never create.

Oh, pink, why must you torture me?

You shine so wistfully, yet speak of,

Tiny fingers forever out of reach,

Entwined with hands that are not mine.

The color of innocent laughter,

The color of a mother‘s love.

The color of a love that I,

Will never know.