I don’t think they know

Grayscale Photography Of Topless Woman

envy-stained drawing of a pin-up model in front of me
tear easily, like waxed paper asks me how I knew I was a woman
illusion / equal, maybe even superior
stalk yell touch herded into corners of the schoolyard where the teachers couldn’t see me
me, woman, or woman-to-be
first time catcalled – age of 10 / advances by older men but still a girl fiddling around being a cock-tease
I was going to be a woman, push-up bras and strings, eyelashes pitch black, get powdered and pinned down covering myself in “yes” like a perfume. learnt womanly sentences by heart – yes, yes, I don’t mind no really thank you for the compliment that’s so sweet of you (I was seventeen.)
I get what I create the papillae on my tongue melting into words that seem starved once they reach my fingertips
laughs and threats and gazes pats on my shoulder and “It’ll be fine sweetheart”s
words erupting into hot steaming lava eventually stiffening into merciless cold rock
get up and dry my nose
ask the world is there a place for me here
cut the answer in half and watch them learn

 

 

 

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11 thoughts on “I don’t think they know

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