You told me boys don’t like girls who read too much 
so I got my own library card 
and carried Oscar and Virginia like a shield 

You told me to cover up  
so I wore the shortest dress I owned 
and crushed the hands of anyone who touched me

You told me I was beautiful with my mouth closed  
so I showed no hesitation in speaking my mind 
and I would never become soft silk for you 

(I once loved a man who confused me with vodka, 
half-poison, half-goddess 
he tried to water me down 
sweeten with honey 
stamp out the fire 
so I left him behind) 

You told me girls should be delicate and dainty 
so I turned up with bloody knuckles in combat boots 
and spat teeth of steel  

You told me being a writer isn’t a smart career choice 
so I filled journals with a garden of words 
and made sure people finally heard me 

You told me nobody likes public displays of affection 
so I kissed my girlfriend in the middle of a crowded street 
and a big neon Fuck You flashed above our heads 

(what you meant was  
two teenagers can make out on a bus 
but god forbid two girls hold hands) 

You told me it was her fault, she was asking for it 
so I linked my arm in hers at the police station 
and forced them to listen 

You told me that bodies covered in tattoos aren’t pretty 
so I illustrated mine with bluebells and snowdrops 
and spilled ink into swirling scripts 

You told me that my hair looks best when straight 
so I wore it curly 

- girl, princess, warrior, queen