Tickets to truth

Tickets! Tickets! Step right up—come get your tickets now!

An unheard opinion sure to shake up every town!

Tickets! Step up! May I have your tickets, please?

This woman is outspoken—she says just what she means!

Because, as we all know, women say, “It’s fine,” when it’s not.

They tell you not to get a gift, then cry when you forgot.

So step inside, the candles burn, the crowd awaits the show.

But don’t blame me if she steps up and tells what you don’t know.

(And with that sparked curiosity, the people came and sat.

No cheers, no claps—just folded hands and silence, cold and flat.)

“Gentlemen, good evening. And to the women they let tag along—

Spit out your chewing tobacco and listen to my song.

That chewing in your heads keeps you from hearing clear—

And not listening to women? That tends to cost you, dear.”

“I’m not here with illusions, no tricks, no sleight of hand.

Just truth delivered plainly. I hope you understand.

Truth is not a costume—it’s the skin I wear with pride.

If you’re offended by my words, that’s something you decide.”

(A banner dropped above her head, the letters bold and red.

The word was TRUTH. It glowed so bright, it filled the room with dread.)

“Here’s the truth we seldom say—because we’re rarely heard—

We don’t want gifts of guilt or silence dressed in words.

We want to be delighted—with your voice, with open hands.

Don’t bother touching us at all unless you understand.”

(Gasps erupted at her words. She licked her lips with glee.

This time the women leaned in close, eager just to see.)

“And opening a door won’t win you some grand prize.

It’s the man who asks for nothing who holds her heart in size.

And men who flaunt us like a prize upon their arm?

I’ve met worse men who’d see that boast and take it as a harm.”

(A few stood up and left just then. She waved them to the gate.

But those who stayed still holding breath—she didn’t let them wait.)

“I’m not just a woman. I am a person—I am loud.

I speak for every silent girl who’s never been allowed.

And if you won’t hear truth from me, why should she clean your house?

If my voice shakes your foundation—imagine hers, closed in and doused.”

“This world has made us fragile shells, dressed in floral grace.

But I am not your porcelain. I will not be erased.

I didn’t come for pity. I came to speak what’s mine.

And I will shout it while I live—and whisper it through time.”

“So don’t just hear the girl who sparkles in her dress.

Listen to the damned. The drowned. The voiceless. The suppressed.”

(She bowed. A few still gasped. The rest filed toward delights.

They found teacups, sugar, cruelty—but missed the truest fight.)