running through the streets alone,
in a tight little skirt
hand closely pressed on my shirt
waiting for the fear to be gone.
that striking,
cold
frost of a fear
that plagues me day and night.
"you're too nice."

a smile,
blushy cheeks,
a princess persona
that the world can enjoy
feeding the darkness
behind closed doors.
sure, I am nice
but I'm not naive.

does that scare you?
my undeniable cynicism
my internal critiques
about the world
how it functions
as I lie in bed
tumbling in
fitted sheets?

you want me to be mean?
to find everyone wrong
be stuck up
be a *****
be a trick in the magician's hat
presenting an illusion of a smile
but deep in the inside
a rotten peach pit?

that's not me.
I'm nice,
wouldn't think twice
to protect those I love
and give advice
to those lost souls
without a sense of direction.
but perhaps...
that's a weakness to you
and like all weaknesses
it should be kept secret
lock away the key
because heaven forbid
if your smile
was what I cared to see.

but I'm not naive.
I get mad,
get even
feel the eyes
judging me
and clearly could care less
of the whispers and
stares
unnecessary glares
as I walk on by
with style in my hair.

I'll have the music pulsing through
drowning out the noise
of those that give me grief,
like they dictate who I am to be.
Nice but not naive,
call it an anthem,
a force to be reckoned with.
just as easy as I can smile
giggle,
be all in your face
with sugar and gumdrops
like rainbows and birthday cake,
I make it my mission
to detect traitors
hearing the hissing
of snakes in the midst
and I will refuse
to put up with your ****.