The author puts into words what I've felt for a long time, and the reason I don't want to be nice: nice is weak. But she said it in a way that didn't make her sound like a horrible person, which tends to happen when I start to rant about niceness.
See, given the choice between the two, I'd rather walk all over people than be walked all over. It's not the "nice" choice, not the selfless choice I constantly feel like I'm supposed to make as a girl, but I'd rather be selfish than selfless, if I can't be some reasonable and sane happy medium.
If some guy calls me a bitchI take it as a complimentCause the kind of guyWho’d call a girlA bitchFor failing to conformTo his standardsIsn’t the kind of guyWhose standardsI’d want to conform toAnyways
I was called a bitch by a stranger at a track meet. The details are vague in my memory, but the "insult" came because I wasn't playing along with his stupid antics and crude jokes. My best friend was shocked that someone would say that, and expected me to be hurt by it. She thought being called a bitch was a bad thing, maybe even something to be ashamed of, but I was oddly proud of the incident. This poem is the reasoning I finally wrangled from my subconscious.