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There’s a certain type of compliment

That you get

When you’re a woman like me

And you manage to go out in public

And cross the street gracefully in heels

Or choose the right lipstick

Or braid your hair cleanly

And that type of compliment

Comes with a certain stare

And with a fawning over-praise

From these friendly cis women

And I can never quite tell the line

Between acceptance

Genuine appreciation

Or between something more sinister,

That sense that they think that they’re talking to a child

Or worse, to someone that has stolen a bit of something

And how I so wish that they knew

That all of this, this totality of me

Is not something that I just decided to put on

That my whole life, I was always in here

That this is me, and the me that was

Well, that was the mask

And this me, well, it is nothing stolen

That the me inside was always my destiny

And that this isn’t me stealing a bit of womanhood

It’s me taking the thing back

That part of me that was always screaming

About what was stolen from her

About that what was lost and now is no more

And that eventually, that girl would come to live

To cross the street in heels

To wear the lipstick

To braid my hair nicely

And if that cis woman

With the smiling and distant face

Can’t see that I’m the victim

And not the thief

Well, then, I hope she sees me in a year

Because my shine is not dimming for anyone.