Poem 29

my one obligatory angry feminist poem. enjoy.
Someone holds the qi1 to my heart
Someone has melted the lok2 closed
Can I suffer any longer for my waist
Is there a missing portion of my sole3?
You take me
You take and break and make me
Your own.
Beaten against the mold
Until I splinter and brittle
Against the force I am broken
You break me.
Who holds the key to my compass
The legend lost on hair filled ears.
Who traces the best path?
Who will wok4 it free of fears?
I am buring, burning, inside
The part where the sol lives
Forgive me for I am weak
Meek, and sheltered
The strongest ribbons of my wings are cut.
Not today.
But someday
My feet will be bound enough
To wear heels comfortably
My waist will be wrapped enough
To mimic the devise you wish to conquer.
Oh! Conquistador:
Take charge
So that I may be freed of youth’s burden.
Some woman somewhere is our mother.
The mother of all this.
Lied to someone about how help-less we are.
Somewoman who will answer to all of us.
For now we bear her name.
Shame as she is, we share those vital blue and red ribbons.
keep us from drowning
In our own clot
I am not. Not yet.
But someday I will be a lady
Stay very still or they will mistake you
For trying to climb the latter.
That is why our shoes are so hard
To walk in.
They hope it will deter the climbing.
But that is what the ceiling is for.
1. Derivitive of chi. Pronounced key here. Meaning the essence of a being
2. An acronym meaning lack of knowledge
3. Functioning automatically or independently
4. A pan that heats most intensely from the inside out. 

Poem 29 EditedPoen 29 Revised

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