i am not a girl who gets flowers for valentine's day. in fact, i'm the one they love to hate. not a helen of troy, wanted by all the boys, sweet as sugar with a little spice. i don't have pretty eyes or a gap between my thighs or dainty slender fingers made for resting between yours. i rarely get compliments, lack common sense but my tongue is sharp as a knife. i need to work for basic affection, focus less on my lessons and not wear heels that make me taller than five-nine.
you like to put women into these little boxes; if we don't bend to your will, asking for respect is atrocious. to be honest, i couldn't care less, because i know i'll never be content as a notch on your belt. you can churn on with your tireless tirades, wax epics about how a short skirt is more attractive than good grades. because one day, i'll find someone who treats me right, accepts who i am instead of stifling my independence and putting up a fight. and you'll still be stuck in your retarded ways, wishing the antichrist upon me, as i plant my greenhouse on a sunny day.
YOU ARE READING
querencia ~ poetry
Poetry"let the moon teach you the art of being a mysterious and beautiful woman" ~ alexandra vasiliu
