sarcasm feels better than silence

You always want to talk about who I was

       Who I used to be

A little girl with crooked pigtails

(I liked bright pony tail holders)

And a nose buried in books

A nine-year old who skipped learning to kart-wheel

And learned to be silent instead

Always quiet

And you seemed to like it that way

       (I was “just” a girl)

 

But I’m not who I was

       I am who I am

My nose is still buried in books

But the pigtails have turned to thick waves

Tied back in a single ponytail

As I ride staight into battle

I’m not silent anymore

(Even though you don’t seem to like that)

Perhaps you think I'm awful

But, in truth

I am awe-inspiring

And I like myself better when I’m loud

       (I was never “just” a girl)

This poem is about: 
Me

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