Usually, I write to ignite a shift, a change. But today, I encourage you to stick to the status quo by
Continuing to underestimate me.
So my skin is not white like Shakespeare nor Dickens, so you assume that my English would be in shards
that I fumble to piece together, cutting myself foolishly as I do so.
Little did you know, that language is my gleaming sword as well as my sturdy paintbrush.
You think that because I get my nails done, I am incapable of opening bottles, carrying heavy weight or producing a thought with any semblance of meaning or originality.
But you fail to realise that I carve these talons to strike the flesh of those who annoy me and slice the seals of spaces that I see fit for sleuthing.
But I paint over them, hot glittery pink, so you would never suspect them to be anything more than a vain accessory. Oh, and because hot, glittery pink is my favourite colour.
You laugh at my practices of spirituality and magick, claiming that I can be no creature of intellect if I believe in astrology. But you may never realise that your premature receding hairline is of my doing, through hexes and jinxes and that I have figured out all your weak points through your birth chart and can press on them whenever I please.
You assume my breasts equate to innate incompetence. That I am stupid, incapable, a clueless poor thing, clutching to my double DD’s in search of a generous shepherd to guide me. That I am plagued with the most paralysing, most destructive disease there is;
Womanhood! You do not understand that it is within the locks of sisterhood, the glimmer of the Divine Feminine energy, wherein I conjure my strength. That I am a High Priestess, capable of outdoing every and any man, in a blouse and stilettos.
Because of my gorgeous makeup looks, full with glitter, rhinestones and pigment, you label me as a prospectless bimbo, in search of validation from the snotty and ghastly-smelling males around me. What your severely inept judgement misses is the strict patience, the fierce perseverance and the unbelievably steady hands and resilient eyes this field of art has built within me. I’m hot AND smart, moron!
I am the most powerful being I have met. My mind is sharp beyond blades, my heart as kind as a plush field of Fuschia Moss Phlox and a force of determination not yet enjoyed by the world. But, you will not see it. You will, either with an intense unwillingness or sheer idiocy, overlook me.
Because how could a woman, a brown woman, a woman with pretty nails and fake lashes, ever be a threat to you?
How could she ever be your competition?
I assure you, I am not your competition! That is far too below me.
It is only when I have got you in a headlock, down on your knees, bare-bottomed, broken-nosed and without a clue as to how you got there,
It is only then you will finally realise who I actually am.
And that’s just how I like it.
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