I don’t need to choose either or.
I like pink and I’m a feminist.
I paint my nails, swipe on some rosy-red lipstick, and curl my eyelashes. And I talk about politics.
I walk out the door in a micro mini skirt, and demand that you meet my eyes instead of my legs.
I sit, wrapped up in thoughts and minding my own business on a park bench. And I’m offended when you tell me to smile.
I devour the pages of Vogue one day, and the pages of War and Peace the next.
I’m someone’s mother, daughter and sister. And I’m the CEO.
I giggle with my girlfriends while sipping on margaritas at night. And by day, I lead millions of women back to themselves, and their power.
I bleed each month, I talk about it, and I’m not sorry. And I am more than qualified to do the same job he does.
I like unicorns and rainbows and glitter. And I can go head to head with the best of them in a debate.
I let him take me for dinner, smile sweetly, laugh at his jokes, and go back to his place. And it is my right to change my mind.
I want to walk down the aisle in a Princess dress made of stardust. And I don’t want to be somebody’s wife. I want to be somebody’s partner.
I dress in shades of cotton candy, coral and bubblegum, and expect to be treated like the men in black.
I embrace my feminine energy, and ask it to be valued by society as highly as masculine energy. Because one without the other is half of a whole.
I gave birth and I love my baby with the bones of me. And I believe it’s every woman’s right to choose to have an abortion.
I spend hours glamming up for a crazy night out with my sisters. And if you decide to grab my ass in the club, be prepared for my knee meeting your balls.
I pour open my heart and talk about my feelings often. And this doesn’t make me weak, it makes me strong.
I skip around looking pretty as a picture in a ditsy printed floral dress. And I pride myself on my intelligence, wit, and accolades.
I used to play with dolls and host tea parties, while dreaming of being the first female president.
I bake killer banana peanut butter cupcakes on Sundays. And write life changing, bestselling books on Mondays.
I ask for what I want in bed and enjoy earth shattering orgasms. And I tell men that everything they’ve learned about sex is wrong.
I dress my daughter in pink somedays, and my son in blue. And I expect them both to be treated as human beings.
I cry sometimes, just because. And boys and men should know it’s okay to cry too.
I dance like no one’s watching when I hear Taylor Swift’s new song on the radio. And I write about justice, equality, and women’s rights, even when no one’s reading.
I like pink and I am a feminist.