Alice, Escaped.

She is so refined and delicate.
You could pour her whole soul
into a thimble
and not spill a single drop.

But not me.
I will yell
and flail my arms
and roll on the floor,
laughing, unladylike,
too loud,
at my own joke.

I will stamp my feet
and cry
mouth open, eyes shut
gushing.

They say
in whispers,
into their tiny, frail hands-
"Shrink, shrink, shrink."
Till there's nothing left.
"Disappear. Less."
"Less."
"Less."

But not me.
I will be Bigger.
I will fill the space I'm in,
and push my shoulders back
break the roof,
shingles shattering,
and roll blissfully
in the sunshine.

I will fill multitudes.

And when I die, they will say,
"It's quieter now."
But somewhere, a frail women
sitting at her window,
will see my rib cage, skeleton,
and stand up
and smash the glass.