When God made girls
he didnât follow the recipe
of sugar, spice, and everything nice,
I think he lost the list of ingredientsÂ
that society sees
when they try and make girl cookiesÂ
Because I am made of scraped knees
from being pushed down
by men who did not know me,
but felt as if it was their place
to walk all over my body,
there isnât anything sweetÂ
about bloodstains on your jeans
I am made of legs crossed
in a futile attempt to be a lady,
to somehow become proper
in my grandmothers mind
because good girls sit still and quietly,
people donât realize it is not niceÂ
to become a prop for someone elseâs life
I am made of tears shed silently
in my bedroom alone
because no one will help me,
they tell me that hit across my face
is just a part of me and this boys love story,
I suppose it is an alright substitute for the
vanilla extract that makes me enticingÂ
I am made of everything
I am told I canât be,
I am loud, brash, opinionated,
and Iâll throw a punch
before I think it through,
because I am a baked good
that is best served salty Â
I am hair cut short,
I am button down shirts
and suits that say âFor Men,â
I am long sundresses
and bright red lipstick,
because I am me
no matter what color my icingÂ
And I am not a girl,
I am a woman
who can not be duplicated
with some simple recipe,
I am more than those three things
stop trying to rewriteÂ
what makes me