at some point my mind rebelled
against the hard-pressed and true
of “you’re such a girl” and “no I’m not!”
back into a world of soft and pink,
of cushions and silk.
words that insist in being Right,
assigning you back into your current place
of Bitch or Whatever, just for the sport
of having your likes and personality
back where they want them to be.
but that Order is not you.
Bitch is a role, as much as Whatever is a perspective.
you can be Bitch, you can work with Whatever.
but they are not you, not even for a minute.
you is supposed to be the natural give and take,
a garden of thoughts and dreams tended
over decades, as you prune and redirect them to sunlight.
now i’m happy to look up into the cherry tree canopy,
catching the sunlight beyond the translucent petals
as I lie in the silky patch underneath catching
the last of the fervent lilacs wafting
from the bottom of the hill, encasing the world
back into a world of soft and pink,
of existence and ease
to see the world beyond
what others have deemed to be Right.