She chooses to be
vivacious
and in her visibility
she is a
stunning vision.
I see her
shamelessly strut down the
grocery aisle
talking to snooping
strangers
and picking
flavorful fruit.
There is no insecurity in her
bell bottom jeans.
She is not
submissive.
Not shy or apologetic.
Her burly black,
faux fur
wig
with her porcelain, play dough
face
scream uprising!
Her high-heeled, bold brown boots
clip clop contentedly
on the inflexible floor.
Her fallacious fawn eyes
beam with amusement.
She’s at home in her
feminine fecundity.
I admire her authenticity.
I awe in her affability.
She owns her sexuality
and disregards the ornery onlookers
who question her indecent identity
because she possesses
a presence of mind
and a powerful poise
that she wears willfully,
like her towering tresses.
She is an inspiration among
average aisles
of passable potatoes
and ambiguous apples.
Not hiding in her
crowded closet,
but out
shamelessly shining
in her stunning
and wholly embraced
revolution.