there comes a time when little girls learn how to lie about the places that they’ve been, about the things that they have seen because we’re taught that it is best to play dress-up like the rest: just don’t resist, not worth the risk, just let it go.
there was a time when i believed the hem lines in my dress could ward off unwanted male attention. but i could not defend this position against his point for too long – he pushed at me with intention.
and what was left, after he unraveled me said i was playing dolls myself? and they had known, there was just no way i got those bruises on my own. and i had felt hands around my throat as clothing rained down from the shelf.
and still we recreate the subjectless content of plays we learned well – the closed doors of that basement. ferment ourselves to cope with the lack of hope felt daily as we walk through a scenery that never changes.
but now, i know more. You taught me how to see it coming, dressed in armaments of war. forget what they meant, my silence bought me nothing but feeling insignificant. and you, you were there – squeezing me like overripe fruit left to comb you from my hair. but now we will come: dressed to kill, you’ve had your fill, we’re here to tell them all.