I was taught to shrink
before I could stand.
To not let my voice out
like a humming artist that never plays.
To carry grace
like a crown carved in diamonds.
​
They dressed me in rules
with threads of expectations
and hemmed my limits
with what a girl should and shouldn’t:
sit straight, speak soft,
hide skin, look down,
don’t want, don’t dream,
to be grateful for being here at all.
​
My worth was weighed
in waistlines
in shades of skin too
Been told
dusky isn’t delicate.
They praised fair as if it were divine.

I was told —
don’t aim too high,
you may bruise the ceiling.
Don’t walk too proud,
they may call you names.
They preached about being ladylike.
​
I’ve seen boys
talk about femininity
chasing pretty faces
and an hourglass frame
while a girl sculpts her brilliance
in rooms where no one clapped.
​
I’m listening to them all
for there is power in being underrated —
Blooming in the shadows,
growing in the depths of the ocean,
learning how to wield a sword.
​
When I finally arrive,
they won’t know I bled to bloom.
I won’t knock.
I’ll build the door and walk through
as I always belonged.