“The Pink Returns”

Painted by survival

Once, I was bright—
a flamingo in full bloom,
feathered with laughter,
colored by love.

But years in the wrong place,
with shadows for sunlight
and silence for song,
drained the hue from my skin,
left me pale,
a ghost of my own glow.

Still—
the truth is this:
the pink is not gone.
It sleeps inside the feather,
waiting for warmth,
for space,
for nourishment that heals.

One day,
when I step into air that is mine,
feed myself with joy,
with freedom,
with the music of my own choosing,
my color will bloom again.

And when it does,
it will be brighter than before,
because it will be painted
by survival,
by endurance,
by the undeniable beauty
of a flamingo
who found her wings.