The table has been set; no place for me.
The men eat first, fair and old
They built this place, let them have their way.
Dark and tanned get second servings,
No second helpings; you know your place.
No women in the hall, find a kitchen to your suiting,
Make a home, make a baby but don't you dare make more than men!
Defined by womanhood; raised to serve, taught to swallow
Be feminine, be meek, be patient, be easy, be anything that'll please him.
Is mans approval what I must live for?
Do I dare to dream?
Take a chance and make that wish
Believe that I can become something more,
More than another perceived statistic.
Am I destined to pick my coffin;
Because most people with your disorder do.
Am I destined to dangle from the makeshift gallows,
Because my braids are the perfect makeshift ropes.
Is this path of unwarranted hate and resentment
All there is for me in this world.
A world so vast and grand with a single sky sheltering us all.
A world almost devoid of love for someone like me.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from InnateApathy and writers in Poets and other communities.
New Normal
There is always a moment — small, quiet, almost forgettable — when the spark stops being a warning and becomes a state. It never looks like a turning point from the outside. It’s not a dramatic shift. It’s not a cinematic beat. It’s a subtle internal click, a recalibration so slight that only someone who has lived this cycle as many times as I have would recognize it.
By Elisa Wontorcik3 days ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Powerful. Keep writing.