The One That Stands Anyways

 in response to the traits men claim to want, and the woman who became too much of them

I read your lists.

Your bullet-pointed wants,

dressed in soft rebellion—

she must be kind, but not too kind,

confident, but never confronting,

funny, but please—

don’t outshine the room.

You said:

be warm like honey,

but don’t stick.

Be strong like iron,

but soft at the edges.

Be spiritual,

but not too deep.

I became all of it

and none of it

for someone who mistook

wholeness for burden.

Yes—

I showed up.

Not to prove,

but to live.

I let my joy breathe,

let sorrow speak its name,

and gave presence without performing.

I am not rebounding.

I am not replacing.

I am refusing to let bitterness

rewrite what love once meant.

Still—

I remain what some only admire from afar.

Not just to you

but to a world

that scribbles expectations

while overlooking the ones who exceed them.

Drawn to?

Let me tell you—

there are millions searching

for a woman

who carries silence with grace,

who weeps with her whole spine,

who laughs like her ancestors are listening.

I am not waiting in the window.

I am not begging to be decoded.

But I am still everything

that someone,

somewhere,

will not only recognize—

but rise to honor.

Not because I need.

But because I choose.

And now,

I choose myself again.