Chrissy Martin | Poetry

I want to wield the loud click of heels 
every day. I hate the way my pain keeps  
me from being as pink as a pickled egg, 
as feminine as dragon fruit skin.  
Since learning it is not a prize  
to be unlike other girls, I’ve wanted 
to wear ribbons on all my socks.  
To get through another gray day I take  
pills Neptune blue, primrose, white; 
if only they were all a brilliant rose. If only 
glitter wasn’t bad for my gut health, the ocean,  
I would shimmer my pills, spread them 
by the bucket on my doorstep like palm leaves 
to walk over when I have to leave in flats.