What if I were meant to be soft?
Meant to bloom on an island
with no droughts, no foraging deer?

What if I were a daisy?
Would you have me grow thorns?

What if I were meant to be
a lullaby

would you judge me
against the rock anthems, the Ride of the Valkyries?

What if
I’m designed to be sweet
a pear ripening on the bough

will my worth be gauged
against the sausages and salsas?
the bitter arugulas?

will my gentle humor
be matched against sarcasm?

I like cynics, and spiny artichokes
falcons and hawks and cats with claws

I like Tabasco and Teenage Wasteland
Slaughterhouse Five, lions on the prowl

I get the plight of the scorpion:
sting, or starve and be eaten.

do I have to be like them to appreciate them?
May I have the compassion without being the fighter?
The warm lap without the sharp tongue?

Is it weak for a daisy to be a daisy?
Is it ok for pink to be pink?

I’m not meant for the sword, except to dance.
I’m not meant for the fight, except in defense of others.
I’m not meant to be fire, except in bed.

I’m not meant to be bitter.
I’m not meant to be cruel. Period.

There’s a place in the world for me.
Whether you think so or not.

Of course tomorrow I may change my mind
ride in on a panther, spear in hand.