Who said,

You could poison my beauty?

That my dress,

Like petals on a flower,

Could not open to the sun?

And if that Sun,

Has a name,

Not quite Apollo,

But masculine all the same,

That I could not lean into him,

And soak all he offers?

That my lips,

Painted red,

Can only wrap themselves,

Around lies,

And barbed wire?

As if the only way,

To protect myself

Must be to hurt others?

That my dress cannot twirl,

My nails should stay chipped,

And my lips cannot

Find the curve of Apollo’s sister,

Artemis’ lips.

Who said,

You could poison my beauty?

With definitions

I did not ask for.

Heels,

Boots,

Red painted lips.

I’ll kiss who I like,

And fit where I fit

Next Chapter: Worth