It’s the woman’s march today.
Often I struggle with the polarity of my identity. Today I turned this over and over and digested it. Here’s what came out.
–
I think about how my privilege and my woman-ness clash up against each other
have conversations while I sleep
codependent partners that bed together
and leave before breakfast
Privilege takes advantage of her
as a hallmark of identity
like she’s a ticket behind the scenes of some contest of individuality
story and worth
Privilege finds pleasure in pain
and comfort
holds her up
a shield and a sign
all at once
until she learns
that is how things are done
and while privilege sleeps
she turns worthlessness and worthiness over
on her tongue
until they turn to molasses
stickiness that welds her mouth shut
The bedsheets hold her arms
white on white.
By now,
she’s just privilege
all done up in a pretty dress
with those straps like fingers on her neck
She loves them,
she pries them away
and finds her mouth empty, empty, empty.
Internal conflict
–
xo