Honey, guess what?
People are going to look at you,
eyes like worms wriggling through your pores,
and they'll turn and say amongst themselves
I don't like that shade of reddish-pink
can't they decide what color they are?

And honey, guess what?
Their minds will never mingle with the
tingling your fingers felt as you melted down
old parts of yourself to build something new

You were too busy laying the foundation
to worry about the hue of you, you were 
building yourself up from the ground
shoulders of stone, arms chiseled because
while one brick may not be heavy,
carrying seventy will change you

Honey, do they even know how a brick is made?
The pressure needed to create a treasure 
none of them will ever be able to appreciate?

Become enamored of your edges,
your boundaries, you don't have to say yes
Hold tight to your heavy, your readiness,
your radiance, your rosiness, your stone
backbone crafted by caring hands and if
someone does not understand
simply dust off your shoulders and point up
Feel no need to show them your construction site.