Photo Courtesy of aleazzo / Flickr

I should let you know
that I hate that word –
maybe not the word,
maybe just the way you use it
on me.


Because I do not speak soft
or invite your dismissal.
Perhaps because I am a woman
unbowed and uninterested in your ego –

I am often unwell.

The word does not name my freedom,
it only excuses yours.

See, you need not be kind –
she won’t mind,
she is fearless.

A pillar, a giant,
She can’t be felled.

Without fear, without feeling,
no need to consider your words
or blunt the weapon that delivers your thoughts –

she. is. fearless.

God forged my image this way,
painstakingly stitched my jagged parts into sentience,
like you:
a being that is so. very. human.

Cause, when you lavish your bravery on my actions
and celebrate my audacity –
all that reveals are the things
which make you falter.

But your demons do not interest me,
mine are struggle enough.
Mine live undormant and uncaged in
the pit of my core;
muzzled but mutinous,
they grow
and we grapple.

See, the battles are long,
longer still for being unseen.

So, friend, colleague, stranger,
call me funny, and sharp
call me silly, and bold.

But fearless?
Keep your fucking praise.



Mimi* wrote this piece for Flux, a forum for those of us encountering adulthood.


*This piece was submitted anonymously.


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