Struggle With IdentityA Poem by Invisible InkMy struggle with identity; a cold fight
begun upon conception, punched out
before I saw the light. I'd call a rematch,
if I had that right. I was born a girl
in a misconceived society.
Sex appeal is all I'm good for;
not integrity or content; what a slight,
to find out I am only a rib on Adam's side,
or a winner of wages that do not equal up,
never to break my own bread,
only to mend history’s broken thread.
I am not allowed to question why
my sisters are sold into slavery,
and here I must lightly tread
bite my tongue, hold my breath
because demands are responded to
with shaking heads, while I
carefully make the beds, because
only a hundred years ago men thought and said
that womens' brains were less than mens'.
And so, I have served myself up
on a golden platter, I have carried this weight,
because I am told it is for the greater good.
While I hold this great globe within my body,
waiting to unfold in a different world where I can say,
without hesitation, without fear of falsifying,
"You, my daughter, choose your own identity.”
You will no longer be the fodder,
of misbegotten rules of the larder.
When I open my eyes to find
that the prostitution of our kind
is a prosecutable crime,
when the veil has been lifted
and history has taught us the truth,
that the rights of all man
and woman-kind are absolute,
are not a lie.
© 2010 Invisible InkFeatured Review
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Added on June 10, 2009Last Updated on September 29, 2010 AuthorInvisible InkNCAbout"I guess I wrote in invisible ink, Oh, I've tried to think how I could have made it appear"- Aimee Mann Open the cage and set the bird free. I am a writer. A poet. Words have saved me. I am a .. more..Writing
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