I can describe to you what I am

And what I stand for

And who I intend to be,

But first I must proclaim what I am not.

I am not a test score

Or a statistic.

I am not an IQ

Or a class rank.

I am not a number

On a scale that society says defines beauty.

I am not a stereotypical young woman

Who believes she requires a male to feel complete,

Or who thinks she should compromise her own cleverness to empower a man.

I am not confined to a clique.

I am not bound by the expectations of our culture.

I am not a paradigm of refined femininity

Who exists purely to exude gentle meekness so one may feel more potent than I.

 

I am intelligent,

But I am not interested in secular ideals of brilliance.

I am radiant,

But I am not society’s exemplar size two.

I am fulfilled,

But I am not reliant on another human being for my happiness.

I am spiritual,

But I am not restricted by rules I’m told to follow.

 

I am a metaphorical martyr,

Here to contend

That we are all individualistic.

We cannot be defined using a few trivial terms.

We each have a worth that is wholly immeasurable

And wholly incomprehensible.

 

The Lies that tainted my worth,

Which were granted to me by society,

Turned into the Whispers who assaulted my ears at night.

I finally discovered how to silence the Whispers—

I simply mustn’t listen.