what makes me so, so different?
is it the fact that i had to
learn to adjust to things that
were too impolite to explain?

is it the fact that the first
time ever i experienced feeling
like an object, that i should
accept my innocent guilt?

what makes you, yes. . .YOU
so very different?

is it a fact that your
leave it to beaver family
in white suburbia was too
good to feel the sting of
an undeserved stare?

is it the fact that you never
rode the school bus alone, even
when pack'd full?
or never talked about
pain in swallowing,

what about the fake smiles,
the whispers, or the
fantasies of 7th grade
boys dipping immature
white pulp bananas,
into the depths
of semi-sweet dark

chocolate

that leaves
slippery feelings upon
contact, nothing that resembles
her-she sweetness,

OH, that's not enough proof?

well then why don't i just
unzip your pride and blow your mind
with the undisputed tidbit that
you blame each and every one
of your societal woes
on my hormones?


© 2004 by cynth’ya lewis reed
All rights reserved. Emotional Assault On Women