The Next Time You Call Me Cute, Remember This

i am not as sugary sweet as you think i am.
they see me in silence, observing the pedestrians.
they see my cheeks turn pink at every word.
they see my lashes bat.
they see me let them take advantage of me.
“aw, she’s so cute!,”
they’ll say to me.

but it’s always surface.

cute cute cute.
like a mindless baby or a helpless puppy –
cute.
never beautiful nor intelligent.
never stunning nor hilarious.
never provocative or captivating
or so mind-blowingly interesting
just cute.

i may not show you all my layers and colors
because i am nothing but a lazy acquaintance –
never fond of small talk or cheap jokes.
not fond of women named jane
or men named joe.

but those layers and colors are there and i don’t like them to be dismissed by the flatness you see.

i am not an image
or a facade
i’m not a robotic fairy
waiting to hear your virtual claps for approval
// just to simply breathe.

did you know i take each and every breath?

do you know how hard that is for me?
why does everyone see me as a sink
when i am an ocean?

don’t call me cute.

it makes me feel so small.
i demand words with more letters and more meaning.
because when i am called cute –
i am being seen as empty, mindless, and unknowing.

candy and honey and sugar are not names for me.

i am a ghost pepper,
a myth to many.
but realer than most.
unapproachably, devastatingly…
real.

why can’t i help but feel like everyone i talk to is downplaying my existence?

i don’t want to be cute anymore.