My gremlins went shopping one night
in the center of life, under flickering light,
looking for outfits—no ordinary strife—
for the grand, velvet gala
of this beautiful life.
Invitation only, no shortcuts, no seams,
no borrowing courage, no half-lived dreams.
We wanted something sexy, something that gleams,
for futures of laughter
and reckless moonbeams.
Something black and razor-sharp, tailored and clean,
for victories earned and the power between,
for standing upright, calm, cool, serene,
wearing success
like we’ve always been queen.
Something blue and softly warm, stitched tender and true,
for nights when the heart breaks clean through and through,
a fabric that knows what sorrow can do,
and still says, I’ll hold you.
Something red for a life lived loud,
for fire in the veins and a voice unbowed,
for choosing yourself without asking the crowd,
for power that roars
and refuses the shroud.
Something green for becoming, for learning to grow,
for roots digging deep where old fears used to go,
for trusting the seasons and letting them show
that we’re more than the past
we no longer owe.
Something pink for love blossoming slow,
for tenderness daring enough to be shown,
for hearts reopening, softly full-blown,
petal by petal,
no longer alone.
Arms full of color, mirrors alive,
my gremlins smirked, “Are you ready to thrive?”
I smiled back steadily—yes, still I arrive,
with every version of me
still alive.
So off we marched, heels clicking in time,
into the limo of becoming divine,
headed straight for that moment in time—
the bash of existence,
imperfect, sublime.
Where every shade fits, every story belongs,
where scars are just verses in lifelong songs,
and the only true rule as the night rolls along
is to show up as you—
brave, radiant, strong.