to mark my territory

I dig through a tangle of necklaces and shake one free, draping it around my neck. I find a forgotten bottle of nail polish under the bangles and earrings and I slap on a coat of espresso to mark my fall mood.

Heels with jeans and lipstick always in bag, I mark the contrast to my little tribe of men, growing more feminine with each son.

My inner hippie laughs and reminds that there's nothing wrong with enjoying eye makeup or skinny jeans. I remember how my mother asked me to please shave my legs for my wedding day, my cousin told my sisters to make me tweeze my eyebrows, my friends wondering why I grew my hair so long if I only wore it tangled in a bun on top of my head.

Going back further and farther, I wore t-shirts and jeans, a little brown bowl-cut more than a bob. Not a stitch of makeup for most of highschool and college, bright red lips, excepted.

And now I embrace the girly, knowing I can be smart and strong and silly and fierce, even in lipstick and a dress. Nothing wrong with eyeliner on a hike, yet still no problem heading out to the river without a mirror. It's all in fun.

Growing up as one of five girls, the feminine was intrinsic.

Now, amid my boy-clan, I wield pink to mark my territory.

[5 minutes on lunch break, - just write]