I looked into your eyes for an assurance
Of my human supposition
In the stalactites of your cold-reluctance
Saw my opposed construction.
Genus: wo(MAN)
, Species: sub-human
“Oh, is this the all that you can?”
Height: Five feet six inches
“A woman always with nuances.”
Features: regular, Complexion: wheatish
“A little too frank but not boorish.”
Vital statistics: approved, branded—
With these you make me stranded.
A sexed body wi
th
a sexed assimilation
Sexual Body and the Textual Body
Nothing beyond this Gendered Body
Bodily matters and Matters of the Body….
Entrapped, claustrophobic, my voice stifled
Hesitating with my own self
, half-mangled
I need no rhymes, I need no sentences
For entrapped are my utterances.
Not a Daughter, Not a Wife
or a Mother
In your peripheral Space always the Other
Deconstruct Me for once to Reconstruct
The concrete Self and not the abstract.
