Wednesday Practice: Womxn

Letting the experiences of womxn inspire me. I agonized about making this a public post, but I think exposing and preserving reality is the duty of anyone who wants to create art, even at an amateur level like me.

When I was young
very young
a man at church cornered me.
He was large.
I was small.
After that, I was afraid of church.

When I was young
very young
a boy in the neighborhood beat up my brother.
He said he’d stop
if I belonged to him.
He sent me flowers every Valentine’s Day.
Red – for love.
I hate flowers.

When I was a little less young
my best friend assaulted me.
He laughed.

When I was even less young
a man I didn’t want to date
took things I didn’t want to give.
There was blood.
More than once.

When I was young
very young
I stood silently among the girls
while they talked about makeup, nails, hair.
I slid
inch by inch
toward the boys
talking about the game.
My heart and mind belonged with them,
but my body did not look like theirs.
The boys turned me around,
pointed my body away from theirs
and told me to go back where I belonged.

There was nothing to take yet.


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