somebogwitch reblogged
I am abrasive.
I am armed to the teeth with knives of hand and mind and fangs and quips behind these lips so it can be unwise to tell me to smile.
So despite a love/hate relationship with the word I have an abrasive personality,
But then I came by it honestly.
I inherited it from my mother though not right away, it lay dormant in my genetics until it evolved out of all the things I didn’t say
A sad, skinny little girl dressed up in fish-nets and angry at the world
“not like other girls” but somehow I was still the one who was abrasive and mad when my mates were just lads being lads.
Abrasive, bracing, bossy, forthright
And surely I have cried, though never for you, an endless sea of salt tears that eroded me into something new.
So then suddenly I was armed to the teeth, ready for battle, oh Morrigan they still had me beat on the inside
But when they asked I’d say I didn’t take no shit.
Abrasive, a pseudo-intellectual adjective that translates as: bitch.
And sure, I don’t just have resting bitch face I have proactive bitch face.
I walk at night with chin high and lips tight.
This is my armour.
So when you and your pack swagger towards trying to intimidate me into scuttling back I am not impressed.
Don’t ask me to relax you haven’t earned the right to see this bitchy face at rest.
Don’t think for a second that I’ll pull punches because you have friends
Or think that your ignorance is cute – my mother taught me better
I have pulled up all my roots before and I could to it again
Just the girl who doesn’t think you’re funny, won’t take your shit
It is simply the case that I can no longer smile when I want to spit
And that makes me abrasive, aggressive, difficult, uptight
It doesn’t matter that I’m right, or all the tears I had to hide or the times I let myself be bullied or that I’d protect those I love until I died because I would still be abrasive in your eyes.
And I’ll accept that, and I’ll own it,
I am the ocean and you are a cliff that might seem taller now
But the ocean will outlast it.
