He looks at me and smiles,
He has no clue I’m about to make him hate me.
I won’t do it intentionally though, no,
It will be almost completely cryptic.
The part of me which I allow him to see at first glance
Will not be the girl his mom warned him about;
I won’t come dressed as the girl the songs he listens to advise him against,
I will not be the one his dad never told him to greet.
Instead, I’ll be the woman his mom always envisioned him with,
The one his dad deemed perfect for his son,
The one he lied awake at night and dreamed about.
I’ll come dressed in whatever is comfortable to me,
With my curls sprouting all over my head,
Wild and untamed,
Like the fire that resides in me,
And my mouth will spit acrid truths.
And like fires,
I will destroy everything in my path
Consuming objects inside out;
And he,
Will only propel my flames.