This thing between my thighs is a curse. It
makes me a victim, a witch, a w***e. It means
I am not human but an object. An intricate
Chinese box whose contents are insignificant.
Victimise me for I am a woman. Prejudge me
for my chest, my hair, my complexion, my
waist. My mind is a labyrinth of deep thoughts
and wishes. Violate me for I am a woman.
I cannot blame you for your monstrous acts
because you are a slave to whim and I should
guard my purity with a lock and key. Own me
for I am a woman. My desires are central to
your male ego. Happiness and pleasure can
only be attained through your blessings.
Worship me for I am a woman. What lies
beneath this gentle façade? A predator?
A wise man? The devil? You fear the concept
of my freedom like you fear uncaging
a beast. To let me escape the barricades of
the womb would be too great a risk.
I am unyielding and judicious for I am a woman.