Words by Chiara Arruzzolo
I have learnt to be comfortable is bothersome.
I have learnt while young,
to be a breeze, attractive, mannered and patient is lovely.
Now when I speak I feel impolite.
Rudeness seeps from my skin. I do not even have to speak to feel unwelcome.
I feel intrusive,
as if I bother you through any movement made. From existing. From wanting to see you.
How dare I approach you and pretend we hold mutuality.
Must I wait for you to tell me I am your equal before I believe it?
Must I stay quiet and harmless?
I feel a need to, yet blame you for the instinct,
excusing any submission of mine through your acceptance of it.
How dare you let me cower in conversation.
How dare you remind me of my calming presence, politeness or beauty,
only after I ask of you to.
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