title. Me, too.
name. Flora Beagley
right now. Third year studying History
It rang in my mind
When I first declined-
Your groping hands gripping
What I treasured inside.
A top for my silhouette-
Looked upon as some bet,
Of “how many boys”
She wanted to get.
Boys with talented minds,
Following girls with curved lines,
Lessons wilting with history,
Their naked new finds.
“Good chat” I am told,
Within the manhood fold,
Is rarely found
Within girls so bold.
Am I to thank you?
For including me, too?
To your group of subjection-
In which I have no clue-
Whether I’m there because I’m strong,
Or simply cannot do wrong,
In my eyes a weakness-
That I have been silent so long.
Where should I go?
When men are too slow-
Or girls are too loud-
Do I wait and outgrow?
I’m upset that I can’t stock up the fridges.
I’m upset that you don’t try and build bridges.
My father taught me to be anything-
And yet brothers stand blindly on monetary ridges.
I dislike the Kardashians and I hate football.
I feel romantically Austen when in rainfall.
I love you all but dislike it when-
You think it’s all so inconsequential.
I want to end well but am finding it hard,
Walking blindly only now finding I’m barred,
To end positively but all I really must say;
Try and find the words, they’ll listen someday.