War

Entering a room of pink painted walls, pink blankets, pink everything. This is my room. My room, my walls, my blankets, my everything. I choose to stay in my beautiful pink room of sweet seclusion, away from the noise of Downstairs. I am Queen to be; Queen of something, not sure what. Not yet. Pink painted walls, I think they clash with the only other color in my bedroom. I am Queen to be; Queen of something… Queen of something. The noise emanates through my pink carpet and into my quiet. Why do they need so much? Not yet. I am forced to leave this room and venture Downstairs. I am Queen to be. What does that even mean? Queen to be. Why can’t I be her now, they say I'm not ready, but one day. One day comes and another takes its place, how many days will it take? Queen of something, not sure what. Not yet. I snuck back in. Back into the safety of my room. Downstairs is satisfied for now but I dread what they will surely need tomorrow. Downstairs is noise and it is there that the only other color in my room makes an appearance. The commotion starts to rage in both rooms. How can that be? My room was supposed to be my place of harmony. I am Queen to… No. Not to be. Queen of something. Not yet. Too many days have come and gone. Downstairs forced its way into my beautiful pink room. The war of the rooms has ended and I, the Queen to be, am without seclusion. The only other color in my room was me. Bright, hideous, noticeable, humiliating red, emanating from the face of a Queen to be. The beautiful, soft, elegant, pink is nowhere to be seen. Queen of something… Please, not yet. We must be prepared for the day when our room is emptied and we are forced to dismiss those hidden insecurities, even if we haven’t found who the Queen is to be.