Not now, Not ever again.

Well she was the girl everyone expected her to be.

Nice, soft, quietly speaking.




Never made a sound.

Never thought out loud.




What do you expect out of me?

Well, I know immediately.

Cooking, cleaning, and the same old routine.


“You can’t be out late

Because the boys control your fate”


And just wait, she said.

Just wait until I say.


And then one day,


“Did you really expect me to be all that great?

Let me sip my coffee and tell you something.

I’m tired of speaking in rhymes and pretending not to lie.

No, I will not wash that dish for you, I did that yesterday and the day before and the day before and the day before since I was old enough to reach the countertop.

Yes, that iron is there because you told me to place it there when I was five years old and you told me ‘iron my clothes. this is how it is done and now I need them immediately’.

Yes, I understood that joke you just spoke because I’ve been reading books and plays and novels and poems and I am not six years old anymore being entertained by the mindless shows on the tv.

And just when I catch myself speaking in rhymes once again, I stop myself and remind myself I didn’t argue with you about the dishes to be a pest, and I did not argue with you about politics to instigate wars.

I remind myself over and over again that I speak out for myself because I have spent seventeen years in the dark, allowing others to speak for me when I am highly opinionated and simply soft spoken.

It took me seventeen years to be comfortable enough to say no when asked to clean up after my siblings and to believe in myself that I will one day succeed,

and goddammit it is going to stay that way


I am tired

of letting





feel as if


I can be pushed around


or spoken down to.


I am not a toy.


I am not a dog.


I will not be spoken condescending to.


I will not be thrown around.


I remain in my place and I stay a human being.


from now on


I stay






human being.”


And how do you expect to do that,

they asked.

You don’t understand

the first thing about talking back.


“It’s simple”, I say.

“I'll write poetry.”

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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