Knowing
I laugh at the man who calls me “cute.”
What a small word for a woman like me.
I would rather be called hideous, untamed, cold, or harsh.
I am immaculate, and I know this now.
The sea rages in my chest,
And my hair is tangled with furry and terror and strength and industry.
I am wonderful,
Contradictions having it out,
Sweet as Sunday morning,
Bitter as a winter’s night.
I am everything and nothing,
Defeat and triumph,
Intelligence and innocence.
I laugh at any man who dares to call me “cute.”
I am immaculate.
I know this now.
| H.H
This kicked me.











