Language Barrier

In the father tongue of your mind,

My blonde hair translates to what I cannot do. 

And my hips, what you would like me to.  

The fabric hugging them is not a dress. 

To you, it means ’Yes’.

My face smiling with pride is my legs opening wide,

And ideas my lips bear are nothing but exhaled air. 

I am not defined by the color of my hair 

Or the clothes that I wear. 

Especially, not by you.