Shame! Shame! Shame!
Why is the experience of half of the world disgraced?
Bind! Bind! Bind!
Why should contortion and distortion of oneself mean love?
Chick Lit, Fluff
only girls read that stuff.
Don’t stand, sit! Cross your legs!
Why is the experience of half the world segregated?
I have not forgotten, my foremothers’ pains;
the stretch of the coat hanger,
the years without signature,
without even the power of their own names.
None of us can ever unlive those days.