"You're so rough,

The way you speak,

The way you hold yourself."

 

I am not soft and sweet,

lipgloss and gossamer,

lace and vanilla.

 

No, I am not.

 

I am coarse and rigid,

blemished, flawed,

sharp like gunpowder

and sharp to the bone.

 

I am old for my young years,

artful in my disdain,

ready to unleash myself on the world.

 

I spit, voice my opinion,

unapologetic, unforgiving,

unwilling to surrender.

 

I sit like a man, making myself vast

so that my presence is noticed,

radiating with the knowledge

that I am more than they say.

 

I wear my lipstick and eyeliner

like war paint, a warrior goddess

as I march in my heels,

sharp and thin like knives.

 

I draw myself to full height

when I saunter down the sidewalk,

a queen in my own right,

walking tall so no one

can ever look down on me.

 

I am uncouth, my tongue loose

and my words poisoned.

 

I do not spew profanities,

I enunciate them like a fucking lady,

projecting my voice for all to hear.

 

I demand and I take

what I deserve.

I fight when my voice is silenced,

because I refuse to let anyone

make me invisible.