A Quiet Defiance

“You’re too harsh on people,”

my father and brother say

over breakfast.

They caution me that if I continue this way,

I'll drive everyone away.

Maybe it’s just my demeanor—

not everyone understands it.

Besides, I tell those who patronize me to back off,

and they seem to respect it.

My brother tells them,

“She’s difficult, you know?”

Hoping they’ll steer clear,

but instead, they linger.

I never wanted to alter

the way I speak.

But now I’m uncertain

if I can remain unchanged.

The traits I cherish in myself

are tarnished when

someone else admires them too.

Why do they seize my identity

when they already possess so much?

So I try to soften.

Stay longer

when I crave escape.

Believe their words

aren’t as harmful

as past experiences suggest.

Relearn all the norms

society imposed on me.

Attempt to be a good ally

without feeling resentment.

I wish to be approachable

and wish to be gentle.

But I do not want my gentleness

to be mistaken for compliance.

And they’ll question—

Why did I endure?

Why did I speak?

Why did I laugh?

Why didn’t I walk away?

Why was I there

in broad daylight?

Because danger

knows no hour.

On a Tuesday afternoon

I’ve feared for my safety.

Sunlit roads only reveal

the injustices that persist

long after we’re gone.

Our foremothers. Our friends.

Our future daughters.

Waging a war

that isn’t ours to win.

Because we are not the issue.

So why must we be the remedy?

Rectify your men. Rectify the culture.

Stop trying to rectify the women.

You lengthen our sleeves

and cover our curves.

Disgusted by what nurtures you.

Consumed by fantasies

yet call us names.

Battling with yourself

but dragging us into your fight.

Say, “This may be a man’s world,

but, darling, it would be nothing

without a woman or a girl.”

Our presence fuels your dominance.

Without women,

there would be no hierarchy.

I tell my father and brother

I’d rather be alone forever

than be a token

in a man’s realm

any longer.