Maybe, I’m a little sick of lines being drawn for me.
“Don’t wear that, you’re a girl.” I dress how I am comfortable and that doesn’t change who I am. A suit and tie make the same impression as a fancy dress but the clothes don’t determine if you get the job, your experience and general personality do.
“Shorten it, then you’ll get published.” This is my work and I will publish it to whomever I please and if they don’t like it, I’ll find someone else. I won’t take away a part of me to give to people who have never known the reason behind my black and white letters.
“Maybe speak up more? You’re too quiet. No one takes you seriously.” My voice depends on you. If you want to speak over me, I will not raise my voice to overpower yours- I will improve my argument to outwit your voice.
“You’re toneless, stop singing.” I can sing as I please, you don’t have to listen. I enjoy singing my songs at the top of my lungs whether I sing well or not.
Don’t let others put you in some box. To confine you within what they deem proper. Cosplay the gender you’re not. Wear a suit and tie to prom. Write within the bounds you are comfortable with. Don’t stop writing till you’re satisfied. Raise your voice, lower it, change the tone, do what you wish with it and you will find a way to be heard. Don’t stop letting the music course through you, whether you can hit those notes or not. Others don’t decide these things and more for you, you do. It’s about time people started making others aware of this fact. You do not have to fit within rigid lines. Draw circles around those within lines, hearts in their eyes, vibration lines around their heart; give them a beat to move to. Draw steps to dance to. Give lights to tantalize them. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get them out of their lines and within a world of underestimated possibility.
Maybe, I’m a little sick of lines being drawn for me. My greatest weapon is the pencils in my grasp. I erase the lines. I step out. I fall to my knees and draw until my pencils are all but nothing and color bleeds from my fingers. A sunset surrounds me bleeding reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples. Music notes trail around the sun and words melt from it onto the city below. I’m breaking out and drawing my own lines; starting now.