I am not beautiful

If you're asked to describe me
Don't you dare say beautiful
Beautiful has stained my skin and bruised the apples of my cheeks enough
Beautiful has shut me up and laid me down 
Beautiful tells her that her mouth is for smiling and opening but never 
For speaking
Yelling
Demanding
If you need to describe me
And I hear one adjective
One adjective you could use to describe a small white dog
Yappy, cute, energetic, endearing, sweet, agreeable, feisty
Fiesty is not a name for a person
It's an unnamed untamed horse loose in a Montana meadow
And when you write paragraphs about me
Do not mention the carefully curated shine of my hair
Do not say that my hips curved like mountains or how my eyes sparkled like sapphires
If you are asked to describe me talk about
The fire in my words
The creaky tones of my voice and how I would stutter
Talk about how in ninth grade I slapped a boy for calling me a bitch
Talk about how I am needy and confusing and smart and well-read and creative and dramatic and bossy and loud
Metnion my face without mentioning my lips
Write about my strong, scarred hands without mentioning their softness
Sum up my body without using a simile and mention my love life, not just who I slept with
So when you're asked to describe me
Don't you dare say beautiful