Dull does not become me, pale, monotonous I laugh at,  for they never defined me.
A world in black and white would cause me to shrivel up and die for I am as bright as the brightest butterfly.
The little girl inside me screams to show off the colors that make a girl girly, a woman a woman.
The color pink is my absolute favorite, it brings out the very essence of who I have become.
The little girl who loved pink candy cane, pink bubblicious bubble gum which made the biggest pink bubbles no one could miss.
Pink skirts, pink shorts, and my dazzling pink sunglasses made me look like a princess from another era.

The sheer color of pink, and the flamboyance nature that it adorns with that dazzling ray of different shades.
The world would be a simpler place if colors were lighter for it would bring about so much laughter.
A night on the town and ready to make a splash is what it's about.
How about a blue dress and what accessories could I wear to make me look so debonair?
I got it, what goes with blue? Why pink is a good mix. Pink pumps, pink bracelets would catch someone's eye.
Definitely not blah looking, more like dazzle, razzle superstar in the making.

The trees are green and that's amazing, the clouds are white and that's also amazing.
The earth is brown, the sea is blue but without a dash of rose pink, ruby pink, ultra pink and creamy pink tell me where would we be?
In a world lacking in fashion, pizazz, creativity,  no future insight to vanity.  
We need flair and dramatics, fashionistas in our market and I propose to get us started.
We need to paint the town and make it look oh so **** Pinktastic.

She tussled and fought,
squirmed and wiggled,
the ends of her hairs
oh how they tickled.
She smelled of sugar and spice
like purple haze,
remy martin,
and bubblicious ,
the sins of life...
Everything nice.
Her lips drove me crazy
I could smell the cherry
dying to be burst,
I'm going to save this one
as she fights
I squeeze,
As she bites
I likes,

A woman...
I found a woman
Cuz she won't
just give it up....

How to keep her safe????
thats gonna be hard to explain,
I can see it in her face......

It’s a bubblicious nightmare,
Hell’s stagnant shock waves
converged from eclectic mass and
unsound rip tides.
Graze the protruding vein
poignant BK3,
slit the sheath and
the frame weeps of the
massacre stemmed.
A body fallen finds refuge
paralyzed whimsical mess

Woebegone and egg foo young on you
meaning me of course
sidestepping a crucial positive
electric kool aid battery acid test
prior to pledging troth,
and tying Gordian knot
to strangulation point,
never fending for myself,
nor being disaster about to happen.

I did house/pet sit when parents
went away on their time sharing vacation
minimally satisfyingly jump/
kick starting, placating, compensating
for dashed ***** state
offering smattering of taste
regarding all those unrealized
golden (gated) opportunities.

Case in point conducting,
honoring, liberating unstinting pyromaniac
kindling burning man within me  
continuously aggravating, enraging, and inflaming
Lower Providence fire department.

When roaring towering inferno
crept frightfully close to nearby houses,
yours truly banked on his guardian angel
rescuing me as smoldering tinder
spread like... what else wildfire.

The dolled guise firewoman incarnate
none other than Mary Poppins,
who still appeared rather gracefully slick
(especially during rainy weather)
at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London England
could pull off cheap trick
or think super tramping Glinda
protagonist courtesy film Wizard of Oz
Good Witch of the North
ruler of the Quadling Country

South of the Emerald City,
and protector of Princess Ozma
riding her reo speedwagon
at light speed in nick
of time (in case of flat tire)
she will travel on her
state of the art broomstick,
but unfortunately said
courteous wonder women
long since retired though the former

still residing in her dotage
at the Banks residence,
nevertheless in an emergency
either one or the other
willingly avail themselves
providing freelance capering
constituting steep consulting fee services
while comfortably holed up
in their respective bailiwick.

After extinguishing blaze,
she and her sidekick The Cat In The Hat,
who just showed up out of thee blue (flame)
briefly secretly conferred
before delivering merriment
to drudgery of housekeeping chores
training, loosing, and applying
their joint secret powers
both as domestic facilities managers.

They gingerly launched, pitched,
tackled traditional domestic disaster,
with collective snap, crackle, and pop
of handy dandy magic fingers
before disappearing themselves.

A sudden whoosh rectified
messy living quarters
overflowing with countless generations
well fed healthy energized dust bunnies
automatically relegated and swept into dustbin
suppressing urge to boastfully brag
to nobody in particular.

Whistling while I worked
yours truly simultaneously  
cooked gourmet cuisine
excelling serving culinary house
special of the day,
qua charcoal brisket ala burnt offerings,
potchkying, scalding yours truly
courtesy untimely uncovering
pressure cooker, or weathering
comedy of errors
flipping upside down

all's well that ends well,
or experiencing severe
irreparable psychological trauma,
vis a vis creating hell's kitchen
house of horrors, mortal mishaps,
world wide webbed
series of unfortunate events,
or shenanigans deemed rite of passage
including indulging sybaritic life
linkedin with living single
fancy free and footloose,

thus imperative for this bard
to compensate aforementioned loss
postulating poetically
prevaricating potschking
as chef boyardee
envisioning, speculating, ruing
laundering with excess detergent
feigning enjoying drowning,
actually playfully wallowing
within sea of bubblicious sudsiness,
Spongebob Squarepants would die for
(unless he happens tubby in Darfur,

no particular rhyme nor reason),
while there purchasing
for this unassuming
devil who wears prada
mine surprise constituting
red badge of courage
surviving helter skelter welter
trials and tribulations
knowing I got true grit
accruing commensurate
valuable salient self survival skills
unexpectedly apprenticed with a book deal.

Kool-Aid mustache, no shirt, shorts made of asbestos and dreams, and you're launching off a rusty piece-of- ramp built from  a saw  horse plywood, trash, and the quiet whisper of "this is a bad idea but  we  gotta be totally  rad."

The hot pink and gray flea market  skateboards?
, that thing looked like it was designed by a demon who just discovered  neon  sugar and cool.
Skulls. Castles. Flames. Creepy warriors. Bruce Lee  or  an  eagle
riding it, ?  you were summoning it.

And that   HE -  man "tracks" tank-thing?
Oh hell yes.
Guaranteed to: eat  batteries

Break toes

Destroy every baseboard in the house

Get stuck in the carpet     terrorize     the  cat.

Somehow flip over on a perfectly flat surface and start screaming like  me  ma stubbing a toe

Then the    THE BIG WHEEL.             plastic  status

your first real whip.
To  ride that plastic trike   plastic tassels over 165  degrees .  Ready and  broken  like it was a ******* war horse of  possibilities...               .................         FREEDOM.

   The  smooth  front wheel spun so fast it sounded like a tortured monster, the handlebars were always wonky  , slick  or  sticky , and when you pulled the spin-out brake lever, you felt like you were being recruited   for  Knight Rider as  your  spine bent  in  3.

  ( Only Knight Rider didn’t smell like melted crayons and stale peanut butter. )  or  did  he .  The  A-  team  did  for  sure.

And holy hell, THE  real  TRAMPOLINE.
This was the rectangular  battlefield.
Forget  rules  this was Survive the unstable Slip-N-Slide of Doom.

You armor-all   up  that mat 'til it’s shinier than your dad's bald spot, throw a sprinkler underneath, and suddenly it’s a Roman death match.
You'd try to walk and it was like:

👣 step
🫨 slip
🧨 scream  sliiiidddeee
🪦 YEET into the springs like a piece of boiled  bologna
nard  pinching  glory.

And you didn’t get off the trampoline.
You got launched.
By your cousins or some  rando
In mid-air       cursing.
While eating a  drippy  Bomb Pop.

Parents? No clue where they any  ever  were.
exactly one  almost  rule:

“Don’t die before dinner.”

And Travis?
Yeah, that dude was a  clumsy  goofball  of  a legend.
Swirly gray wheels, creepy graphics, flea market gear, and a mischief radar so strong it picked up cops before they even turned down your way.

If he showed up, something was gonna catch fire, get duct-taped to a lawnmower, or turn into a new fad.


Sprinkler trampoline

Peach trees  and  mongrel  dogs


Rottweilers

slide failures

and a soundtrack of Twisted  sister    Journey , Mr. T cereal, and someone yelling “HEY! GET OFF THAT ROOF!”

You didn’t just live in 1982.
You  lived
And if you stood real still and smelled your yoda  shirt, you could still get  the scent of grape Bubblicious,   cap  guns , and play doh, if  the  dog  didn't  eat  it  again.....