Be a Lady
BY ZEEBA KRUSE
I am a girl.
I am made of scars and glitter and blood and bone.
Everything about me is.
That scripture becomes shattered fragments of a smudged mirror,
When I am asked,
To “be a lady”.
I am a. . .
Lady?
I am—must sit still,
Cross my legs,
Show skin,
Hide it,
Laugh,
Not too loudly,
Smile,
Smile more,
“You’re so pretty when you smile”.
Laugh at that,
He’s so funny,
Why don’t you like him?
Jesus, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.
You’re too emotional,
Too independent,
You’re too loud,
Quiet,
Skinny,
Fat,
“God did you see how much she was eating?”
Hide those scars,
No, you can’t play with the boys,
You want to play with the boys?
You like football?
Yeah alright,
whore.
“She’s such an attention seeker.”
Fix it.
Listen to them,
Curl your eyelashes,
Your eyes are watering?
Suck it up.
Beauty is pain.
Of course you want to be beautiful.
You can also be. . .smart I guess.
Not so smart you outshine someone else,
Don’t be too cocky,
You can’t brag,
Accomplishments should be humble.
“Ugh, she just wouldn’t shut up.”
Okay,
Okay,
Quiet,
Be quiet,
Fade into the background.
Be.
A.
Lady.