Being bold was not what I always wanted,
Except last time when I wore a skater skirt
People judged me from the length of a piece of cloth..
And I for once, knew that bold was too easy!
So I tried a new one, each time I walked out the door..
Each time, with a little more confidence,
For me, this was so liberating
Being Confident was not home-grown for me after all.
Then I saw a group of women
with posters in hand, forming circles
Probably raising slogans for one out of many problems
That they had to face, since god knows when.
I happily obliged, and stood in the centre,
My voice soon amplifying theirs, at will.
This went on for a while, and I could tell,
That this was certainly not being taken well..
by people from the opposite race,
who probably thought this was just disgrace
women talking about their pain
How on the earth does that make a case?
Those judging me for the length of my dress,
were now capturing each word I spoke,
Calling me names when it didn’t suit them,
and painting me in rough, grey strokes..
I was no longer bold, they said to me..
And so did I feel, I had become someone else,
Even the ladies turned away, and watched,
As my character was murdered on the TV cells.
Dipped and drowned in the waters of shame,
I lost everyone, and had no one to blame..
Everyone blamed the dress! I was shocked,
Just because it was small, like their stupid claims..
Being bold was never what I wanted,
but here I am, misunderstood more by each passing day, minute and hour..
Maybe they were right, the dress did matter..
The length of it, proportional to the amount of power.
Power that discriminates so much,
doesn’t question right or wrong
and it’s so always been this way,
I’ve heard this since so long..
Knowing what’s best, I’m slipping away,
into darkness, and my favourite shortie,
I don’t speak for what the others think of me,
This is my world baby, and you aren’t invited for the party!