Mincing words and little smiles
Not too much teeth
A delicate flutter of the fingers
And a calculated toss of the hair
Over a craftily twitched shoulder
Take small steps
And be sure to swing your hips -
But not too much

Dear God, the claustrophobic prison
Of tiny, perfect words and
Tiny, perfect movements
You've created for yourself!
Let me scare away every man I meet
Before I put myself in such a little box,
Easily picked up, easily toted,
. . . easily discarded.

I will be me, loud and obnoxious,
I will dance in the middle of the street,
I will wave to random passersby,
I will wear funny hats and bright red boots,
I will carry plates of food on my head,
I will laugh as loudly as I want,
And I will be loved for who I am,
Or not at all.