Please.

Please.
Please tell me all the ways I should cover myself or how I should close my mouth or soften my tone. Please tell I should put down my pen or I how should say words like “fuck” a little less. Tell me how you find me pretty when I smile or how bitchy I look when I frown. Tell me how I should not rage and blow steam or fall to the earth in grief. Tell me I should always pick myself up off the floor, lighten my loads, and give you butterflies with my words. Tell me how I should be so you can rest in your comforts of should.
And.
I’ll tell you that I’m not for you. For my heed does not rest in your comforts and words. Once gripped by others, molded in shame, and pent up by blame.
I’ll rage if I must.
I’ll fall if I must.
I’ll feel myself.
For I am not afraid.
With my words, my voice, my presence; I’ll show you that I’m not for you, I am for myself. I do not rest in comfortably, quiet, soft, and small ways. Mind your keeps as I keep spinning away.

stephanie birch