Decorous Lady

Her, I, She, Me, I am a sequence arranged for display. Her, as they describe composed, agreeable, contained. A figure shaped by expectation. I, navigating the room measuring tone, editing impulse before it escapes. She, as preferred steady voice, softened opinions, laughter kept within limits. Me, beneath restraint, pulse quicker than posture suggests, thoughts sharper than expression allows. I am the convergence of polish and pressure. A decorous lady does not unravel. She waits. She nods. She absorbs. Silence mistaken for consent. Patience mistaken for ease. But composure is labor. It is the constant calibration of presence so it does not exceed comfort. Her is what they see. She is what they expect. I negotiate. Me feels. I am what remains when the room is empty— untied from performance, still poised, but no longer reduced.