The forest red.

 Am I too intense for you?

Too fierce, too much,

Throw of an axe, not a warm touch,

Full blown like a flame, not that of a match,

Am not quiet candle that crackles crisp,

I rather stay silent, but I am a whisp.

Do I break these thoughts that you have?

Of woman who painted is -

Of softness and friendly charm,

And my teeth - they only bring harm,

While foxes run through the woods,

Not appreciated of city's goods.

And I tackle these thoughts in a spin,

Who am I to get up and win.

I lost to all of these rules - you're all set,

Because in the end, I, the forest red,

Am commonly known as only a threat.

I am a woman, I swear.

I am a woman, I swear.
And all the roads about care,
Are forbidden to open
Like words,
That crush under the heavy boards
Of silence.
And creative power means nothing.
I swear,
This dress is unbearable to wear.
And I care.
Too much and too dear -
Till the only last tear.
I am a woman and words mean silence,
Actions speak world

And I speak violence.