A lady...
Speaks when spoken to
Demure, like freshly fallen snow
Blanketing your fragile ego.
I
Am not a lady.
I speak the most when you want to hear it the least.
Demure? I don't know the meaning of the word
My stilettos cut silence like
A knife through shadows
My smile lights up
Like a thousand neon signs
Screaming
Electrifying.
I laugh without thought,
Like a record breaking at the feet of expectations
My rage isn't silent
Its the spark in Chicago, 1871
The chains i wear,
Not all of them visible
Jingle loudly
Proudly under that shame inducing stare
I'm entirely too much...
I have never been enough.
Too loud for my own good
My mouth a pistol in the hands of a trigger happy texan.
My roots steeped in the tradition
Of, little girls, who were not quite ladies.
A lady
Speaks when spoken to
A woman
Is never silenced.
