Do not call her weak because she still loves flowers; demure is not defeated, and silk was never surrender. The world told her to trade softness for steel, but a rose does not become a blade to earn respect. She can hold a child, run a home like a boardroom, and negotiate storms with perfume on her pulse. Her lipstick is not an apology, her dress is not submission, and her sweetness is not permission. The dangerous woman is the one who survived the fire, kept her feminine light, and came out too sweet for bitterness to claim. Author Lucyalia
© Slam Poetry by Lucyalia 2024–2026. All poems are copyrighted. Any use requires credit to
@Lucyalia. All rights reserved.