There are girls who walk through the world
like an artic fox or Debussey
stepping lightly
not leaving a mark.
Sometimes I envy them
in their size 6 jeans and their perfect hair,
their sweet voices never loud, never offending.
They are loved, they are easy.
But then there are girls like me
who enter rooms like a bull or Bon Jovi.
Our feet leave a mark
Our voices break open spaces
previously held by men
and by those who benefit
from silence.
Our thighs stretch against our jeans
thick with the work of
breaking horses and playing volleyball
and enjoying a steak.
Our hair is only considered when it’s in the way.
Our butts are big,
Our traps—a bit unladylike,
but we need them for lifting things
Like Justice.
We don’t hesitate to speak
We refuse to be small
when the world tells us
we’re too big.
Anyway, we couldn’t be small if we tried.
We don’t have time for small
when there’s work to be done,
things to be said.
Sometimes I envy those girls
who fit so well into small places,
small conversations.
I envy the ability to pass unnoticed
while I always seem to say too much,
take up too much space.
But Too Much is my calling,
My superpower,
My gift to a world
that wants small women,
but will be forced to deal
with the big ones
Until they are not “too” anything—
They just are.