I Am
Men do not get to define a woman’s identity. We can be wild, quiet, or messy all at the same time. Our existence isn’t derived from them.
You see my bones,
You say they tremble.
You notice my silence,
You interpret my consent.
You scrutinise the curves of my body,
You judge the brazen moves I make.
You witness my rage,
You pronounce me mad.
You. You. You.
Where am I?
I am not made of you.
My bones have the strength to carry
the weight of your gaze —
(I choose not to).
My silence echoes through
the hollow chambers of your law —
(I see them fall apart).
My moves are assertions
from a language unknown to you —
(I see your incompetence to understand).
My anger is against the system
that you built.
Of locks, chains, and walls —
(Signs of your fear).
I am all that and much more.
I am, and that’s enough for you to know.
I am, so you can stop telling me what you see.
I refuse to limit myself.
I was never made of you,
And will never be bound
By your feeble understanding of me.
