Becoming who you are (A poem)
I was seven when I was told
Nice girls needed to be seen but not heard
And for a while, I believed them
Hung my head down
Kept my voice low
And plastered on a picture-perfect smile
But what good are nice girls?
I must confess
One day I woke up
And screamed until my voice was hoarse
I raised my head high
Strutting around like a peacock
Because what good are nice girls?
They don't get to change the world