The speaker begins crushed and quiet, sitting on her hands, seeing the world through broken glasses, feeling something heavy pressing her neck down. Words that should be spoken come out as ashes. She has been told that a proper princess keeps her eyes lowered, and the poem slowly shows how much that advice hurts her. The line about diamonds forming under pressure hints that she sees some strength in what she endures.
Then the mood shifts. After a last bit of forgiveness, she lets go of her own weight, sits up straight, and calls herself a "xanthippe," a word often used for a sharp-tongued, difficult woman. She takes it on rather than shrinking from it. Her mouth is sore and her cheeks swollen, but she replaces doubt with words. The tone moves from cold, tense and suffocating to defiant. She refuses to stay quiet for the comfortable crowd, and the final line, "i am a woman," lands as a plain, firm declaration of identity.