You paint me to be a beautiful rose
with fragile pink petals
and a stem that could snap with the gentlest of touches
You tell me I should be
dainty, delicate
My lips should be soft and quiet
because there is only one thing my mouth is good for
and it is not speaking
My hands should be small, clasped within a man's,
not folded into an angry fist thrusted in the air
My whole body should be hairless
because who would ever want to **** a hairy gorilla
I know I wouldn't (oh, wait...)
You mock me for needing to go to
the library
the party
the bathroom
with at least one other girl
And maybe your jokes would be funny
if I wasn't so terrified all the time
because society tells women
"don't get *****"
instead of telling men
"don't ****"
And it's time for a change
because I may be a beautiful rose
but roses have thorns
and mine are as sharp as daggers.

You can choose to listen & react to the negativity, or you can just live freely and wait for them to see that they were wrong.
Actions are always louder than reactions.

When you want to be something, be it.
Don't complain about not being it.
That is all I will say on that subject.

America, the beautiful place full of obesity and intolerance,
where there’s a McDonald’s on every corner,
but a homeless veteran on every corner too.
The place where old white men are making choices about women’s reproductive rights,
refugees are turned away from a place founded by immigrants,
And racism is alive and well.
America the Beautiful doesn’t exist any more,
It’s America the polluted, America the Land of Sexism, America that would disappoint our forefathers.
America was founded by people in search of freedom, but yet our government is trying to take our freedoms away,
when our President is in favor of conversion therapy that makes LGBTQ+ people 8 times more likely to commit suicide,
it’s obvious that he doesn’t actually care about us.
America the money hungry country,
Where I can’t afford the EpiPen I need to survive,
And the top 1% says that raising the minimum wage is us being selfish.
America the Misogynist,
Because our country is directly affected by who we choose to represent it.
And I do not want to be “grabbed by the *****”.
I don’t want a ****** to be in charge when my ****** is still out living free on the streets.  
We are America the sexist because when women march for their right’s it’s seen as a whine,
not a cry for help.
America the bigot,
Where people are seen more as their melanin pigment, or their religion, and less as a person.
Where “don’t shoot” is more of a suggestion than a plea.,
Where I’m worried about my friends every single day.
America the Beautiful doesn’t exist any more.
It was made beautiful by the array of faces all different creeds, colors, and religions.
Now America is the United States of Hate.

No meu corpo
eu silencio as dores do passado,
escondo as cicatrizes da minha história
e guardo os sentimentos de minha jornada.
Ser como sou,
vestir-se como me visto,
falar como falo,
andar como ando,
viver como eu vivo.
São apenas vestígios que deixaram-me
ao longo do tempo.
Abusos.
Agressões.
Violências.
Ser submetida a ser submissa.
Ser jogada de cantos em cantos.
Ser tratada como lixo.
Ser menosprezada.
Ser dada como burra e ignorante.
Querer ser o que sempre fui.
Querer ser algo que não me deixaram ser.
Ser como "eles"?!
Não podia.
Hoje...
Hoje sou quem eu quiser.
Não sofro e nem me fazem sofrer.
O peso que levo em meus ombros são meus,
mas não dói.
Tenho orgulho.
E hoje sou LIVRE,
sou FORTE,
sou GRANDE,
sou MULHER.

They say “cover it up now
Make it look the same as all the other manufactured bodies,
Being pumped into this assembly line world”,
But my body is not the same as those,
It is soft and made of silk in an iron factory,
And the cold metal burns my skin.

Because I have the right to bear arms but not to bare arms,
Telling me that the guns that ****** are the only thing I am allowed to have,
And even though my body is hot hot hot, it will never be killer.

And you tell me that I am like the guns sitting in a shop waiting to be picked out, grabbed, paid for,
Except I'm worth less and and worthless and more disposable
Telling me I'm all hormones and ***** moans
Telling me that I am yours.

But I am not yours,
I am the little schoolgirls with battery acid thrown in their faces
Touched by hands that harm not help
Ripping apart their hearts and bodies.

But I am not yours,
I am not even mine,
I am in the freedom,
And that freedom is not in your guns or your yells or your stars,
That freedom is in the plant pushing out the iron girls, girls, girls,

Pushing them out into your world
The world that belongs to you because you claim it
But you're no match for the iron girls and their metal hearts
Taking everything you have and have had
And making it theirs, theirs, theirs

There once was a man who lived in a tower
He had orange skin and fools gave him power
His hands shook with fury at every critique
While his family's obligations were to remain chic
His head began to swell while his eyes grew smaller
But his silly little brain it began to falter
This was a man who thought ****** assault was a joke
Until Women around the world began to hope that he'd choke
Women gathered and rallied and screamed for their rights
They took to the streets in ***** hats and tights
The man did not like this, how dare they disagree!
With the world he was trying to create
Full of misogyny

I can hear them now,
"Get off me, get off me,
Poor creature, poor creature,"
I have arrived at an impasse.
In what kind of world
Will justice be served
Based on the hem of my skirt;
In what world be it served,
Based on the drink in my cup?
I speak not on the forked tongue
Of a miserly bedfellow,
But on the wings of a **** moth,
Gorgeous and pale
And fragile and small.

I may be a **** moth,
But they named a war plane after me
For a **** good reason.