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
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.
My feet will be bound enough
To wear heels comfortably
My waist will be wrapped enough
To mimic the devise you wish to conquer.
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.