It is said before the pink ladies
Lived the gang of women dressed in white wedding dresses
Holding their virginity in their pockets
Wrapped and sealed for any gentleman patient enough to wait for 4th base
The stories they told there children only spoke of chariots and glass slippers
But today sandy turns her gown pink in dreams to be anything less than white
We dip our dresses in blood trying to be anything but sterile by matrimony
You see
There are more stories hidden in the space between the start and end of her skirt than on that gown
How growing up get a little more interesting with each generation
And a little more accepted
A little more forgotten
We’ve found a way to fly through puberty as if it wasn’t a phase worth residing in
Like sex is the next step to middle school graduation
Nothing is forever except first times and the mess it leaves behind
Vanessa remember being white
Before watching to be pink
She holds purity in her bones
And yet at 16
vanessa reminisces on snap shot pictures in memory lining
trying to find an image that doesn't break ribcage when held to chest
did she realisize how fleeting friendship could be
that the innocence she held in her bones
is only held in the similar blood stream of peers still sleeping in white houses
of daughters still counting sheep
today jenny started counting dicks instead
counting down seconds
counting mistakes
there are skeletons that dont fit in our white closest
in our suburban cultasacks
cannot be held between the spaces of our picket fences
we have forgotten to outline our own skin
so we place ourselves on the streets of our own misplaced attention
learn to apply thick enough lipgloss to mass the taste of blowjobs
forget gangs in pink
our daughter are turning red with the years
pant blood are their badge
learning to count days backwards to purity like it was something that made us who we were
how have we forgotten how to hold on to what makes us beautiful
No comments:
Post a Comment