Pink Armor

She leaned into the mirror,

face smeared with glitter dust,

asking, "Is this too much?

This pink?"

Her thumb worked at the corner

of her mouth, trying to

erase a line that wasn't there,

just trying to be less.

Hairspray fogged the air,

a sweet, chemical cloud.

I saw the practiced curve

of her young lips, already

learning to perform.

That small fear, already

taking root,

of taking up too much room,

of being too loud, too bright,

too simply, brutally herself.

It starts early, that tax.