It's casting day & I've got the lead.
The role of a frizzy-haired, green-eyed, bright smiling girl.
At an early age I'm instructed "Wear this. Sit here. Read this."
My choices confined to the props I'm given.
Over time, you create my character more.
"You're independent!" I'm told "You make your own choices!"
I strut around choosing as you direct me.
"You're responsible!" I'm instructed. "You get things done."
I move about the stage, doing the assignments I am given.
You take my blank character and write in who I am.
"Be smart!" I'm demanded. "Keep your grades up."
I prowl around stage, just barely meeting your requirement.
"You have morals!" I hear. "Be a GOOD girl."
I listen, pulling on the modest costume I'm given.
It's a never-ending rehearsal as you fit me into a character of your liking.
I say my spoon-fed lines. I follow the drawn out steps.
If I misstep, just a little, your directions comes out loud and clear, comanding what I'm supposed to do.
I follow your script for me.
It's the only one I have ever seen.
Everyone else has theirs, but this one, this is JUST for me.
The character I am told to play.

Until one day I see another script. Left, by chance, open on a table.
Being independent, I choose to see whose it is.
Being responsible, I pick it up with the intention to return it.
Being smart, I read all the words.
Being a good girl, I blush at this person's role.

Being a good girl, I only read a few pages.
Being smart, I memorize all the lines and cues.
Being responsible, I decide to just put it back as it was.
Being independent, I choose to use what I learned.

Called back to rehearsal, where you try to mold me some more.
"You're in love! But you're safe"
As I walk through the steps you give me, I slowly start drifting, remember what I read

I use my independence & choose apart from the script.
You carely instruct me, using my responsibility against me to drag me back to character.

Another reahearsal, I stand in my place.
My brain is wheeling. My independence is strong. You made it that way; I'm unfaltering in my course.
You want to retry the love scene.
My brains kick in as I remember another's role.

Instead of my line, I repeat from theirs.
"I just want to be friends. I need my time."
You aren't happy. This isn't your written script.

I continue on my own.
My steps are not what you have drawn out. My words are not what you wrote.
The character you created is being used against you.
My intelligence figured it out.
My independence made the choice.
My responsibility kept me in control and got the job done.
My good girl side keeps it *mostly* in check.

Your script is no longer mine.
I no longer dance to your choreography.
MY hand writes the lines.
This is the character you created, defying you through the very things you wanted it to be.


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