When I was little I really wanted to be an olympian.
Then a veterinarian.
Then a dancer.
Then a teacher.
Then a librarian.
Then a writer.
Then a psychologist.
And you know how happy I was when I'd say "When I grow up I'm gonna be--"
How sure I was.
You never, ever, told me that my love of a future reality was just a phase.
When pink was my favorite color you never sat me down with tears in your eyes trying to convince me that I actually liked green.
You never took away my clothes with pink on them.
You never told me that I shouldn't be telling other people that pink was my favorite color.
You never told me that it was just a phase.
That I was confused.
That I shouldn't be labeling myself at this age.
So then why did you say it this time?