Details |
Bree Smith Poem
In a world painted shades of rose,
Where costs are hidden, no one knows,
A silent burden, an unseen fee,
That rests on women, unfairly.
A razor's edge, a bottle's hue,
The price deflate for things in blue,
Yet when in pink, the cost ascends,
A subtle tax, which never ends.
A shampoo bottle, a gentle scent,
But dollars more are often spent,
For lotions, creams, and fashion threads,
For something that society spreads.
They say it’s choice, it’s just supply,
But why should pink make wallets cry?
In aisles where colors softly gleam,
It’s more than just a consumer’s dream.
For girls are taught from tender youth,
That beauty’s cost is simply truth,
But let us break this rosy chain,
And paint the world with fairer gain.
No more the silent tax we pay,
Let equality lead the way,
For every dollar, every cent,
Should reflect what’s truly spent.
Copyright © Bree Smith | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Bree Smith Poem
In the spectrum of color, a silent decree is issued, pink for girls, a hue of softness and grace, blue for boys, a shade of strength and resolve, as if colors could dictate destinies, frame identities. Pink is wrapped in layers of delicate promise, a symbol of sweetness, an unspoken expectation that femininity should be gentle, confined, to the world of dolls and dreams. Blue is marked by its depth, a color of vast skies, of distant horizons, its presence suggesting a strength, a vigor that belongs to the realm of boys, as though courage were inherently tied to shades of cool. The palette of childhood is divided by these lines, each color an ambassador of stereotypes, each hue shaping a world of limited choices, where the spectrum of human experience is neatly boxed. But in every shade, there is a story untold, a complexity beyond simple labels, where pink can be fierce, blue can be tender, and the colors we choose are not markers of worth, but reflections of a deeper, more nuanced self. In the tapestry of life, these colors blend and mingle, defying boundaries, merging into a spectrum that holds the full range of human experience, where identity is not confined to mere shades but is a spectrum of possibilities waiting to unfold.
Copyright © Bree Smith | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Bree Smith Poem
Flowers open in the morning light,
each petal a quiet burst of color.
They stand still, yet full of life,
a brief touch of beauty, reminding us of
simple, elegant grace.
Copyright © Bree Smith | Year Posted 2024
|