We are the girls too difficult to love
With smiles so wide birds nest in the corners of our mouths
And when we sigh, it sounds like a morningsong
And when we sing, it’s a symphony, released
We are the selfish ones
Sashaying through the universe and taking, looting, seizing,
We carry nothing on our backs
We loom large like sequoias, taking up space like we invented it
No one to prop us up in our despair
No one tall enough to graze our foliage
No one to dance in our flames but ourselves
Naked and savage and well, far too difficult
Who decides, anyway?
Who partitioned the worthy from the not?
We, the difficult ones, who could not even name ourselves
Suddenly must tiptoe around a new word for caring
Crazy… crazy… crazy.
Who named the mania in our eyes?
Who fought the gales of our hurricanes?
Who decided we were difficult?
The scientists, maybe,
or our fathers
Or Adam when he switched out Lilith for Eve
Yes, my friends, we are the oldest myth of all