“People will talk”, my mother said,

“About your overripe dancing in that dress”

“You are not the same baby I raised and fed.”

She is right. I am a seventeen now, still dancing like no one is watching.

Should I feel ashamed? Or should I be angry that she’s stopping me from having fun?

People always talk. It’s what they do. And only a fool would believe everything said is true

But who am I to give them something to talk about?

I wasn’t even stepping over boundaries. I was undermining my own fears of being a bit more social.

I like the attention now but maybe that’s the problem,

I focus on its pure smile and am blind to its deception, its toxic grin.

Eyes dance with my body and stares pierce like swords,

Words echoed throughout the ballroom drawing even more attention to me.

I remain blind until am warned by my mother,

Who has sat through the party realizing my constantly changing age.

A child I am not but a woman yet to be

If only I can label the growing voice inside of me.

“People will talk” is a phrase I yet to hear

For it is often spoken to girls and daughters dear.

Always looked after, more than the boys

As to never be seen as too foolish or indulging

Because boundaries we must maintain and certain bridges we cannot cross

Like ladies we must act

Or otherwise,

People will talk.