Rebel

Daddy’s little girl grew good at spotting liars

Men sprinkling their desires in pretty drinks set on fire

Where chivalry should have been, ultimatums soon transpired

But daddy’s little girl stole bar stories from would be braggers.

She exposed the gold-plated charcoal hearts sold as gems to blind buyers,

Making Cheshire smiles fade with rejected encounters and lost cause endeavors

She waved her unstained flag, knowing damn straight that there is better

Daddy’s little girl grew good at catching bad guys

Freezing cat calls with the backhand of her I AM WOMAN stride

Rebuilding broken mental bridges as barriers

Against bruised egos compensated by social pride

Daddy’s little girl was not afraid of the metaphorical fight.

At least, it was supposed to be metaphorical.

It was supposed to come with time or never at all

but before daddy’s girl knew what clue she had missed

she was given the choice of an unasked-for kiss

or a bruise in place of what the man would miss.

So, daddy’s little girl did what she was told

But, Not by the man

But by a woman whose guidance bloomed best when bold

A woman who’s experiences measured life lessons through stories she told.

This woman daddy’s girl recalled that night

Reminded her that opportunity is best used by both sides.

So, daddy’s little girl did what the man had insist

with a kiss from her fist the man’s negotiations were suddenly dismissed

By the circumstantial evidence he was unfit for such a gift.

Realize that daddy’s little girl had rebel blood in and on her

Clothed in the war paint of bleeding metaphorical survivors.

Raised by a woman whose strength she admired

Whose past and present circumstances transpire

To raising a young woman to stand tall beside her,

No, That man stood no chance

Because daddy’s little girl was mommy’s best fighter.