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i inherited my mother’s rage
women are considered to be possessions before we are ever considered to be human beings,
we lock those doors & eat those keys.
women learn to sense what who danger looks like just by catching another woman’s eye from across a crowded room.
the laughter of women that fills the space floor-to-ceiling with lavender
to be a woman is to be warbound, k n o w i n g all the odds are stacked against you.
red lipstick: an external sign of internal fire.
women endure because we aren’t given any other choice.
she’s so scared to takeupspace that even the weight of her bones sometimes feels like too much.
& the next morning, all the ladies of the village have their favorite shade of blood splatter lip stain named after me.
i will still wonder when i am to become a story meant to warn other people’s daughters,
they use my body like men use women’s bodies & when they’re finally done with me they cut off my tongue my breasts my hands my feet & leave no thread behind for me to stitch myself back together.
no, women are not vessels to f i l l w i t h y o u r desires.
they don’t want us to be mary sue’s, but they don’t want us to be unlikable, either. that begs the question: do they even want us to exist outside of their late-night fantasies?
arthur, rip your ribs wide open & eat your heart out.
but if i’m never going to be whole again, then neither are you.)
