we are not done.

They talked over us until we became the noise they couldn't ignore.

we are not done.

don’t let anyone tell you

we are done.

i see girls being sold back

the same cages

with better branding.

i see the laws.

i see the files.

i see the rooms

still full of men

drawing lines through women’s bodies

like we are maps

they have the right to redraw.

i see it.

and i want you to feel

what i feel

right now


this thing in my chest

that is not quite rage

and not quite love

but is somehow

both

this is what it feels like

to refuse.


i am the granddaughter

of women who flinched.

i am the woman who refuses.


i came here

with a stone in my throat

and i have ground it into gravel

and this – this – is what it sounds like.

this is the voice they said

was too much.

this is the voice

they talked over in meetings

dismissed in boardrooms

interrupted mid-sentence

patted on the head and sent back to quiet.

this voice

that was swallowed

and swallowed

and swallowed

is in front of you now

and it’s not asking permission.

not aiming to be digestible.

not anymore.

i will speak.

we will speak.

and speak.

and speak.

until our daughters are born

already knowing

that their voices

were never too much –

the rooms were just too small.

they say pleasure and i hear to please.

born into placère

latin lips. whispering ‘to please’.

a gentle yes. a smoothing hand.

a good girl of words. of keeping her eyes from the sun.

the sound of a voice unheard.

grew into plaisir – whispering devotion.

fluttering lashes. curtsy on command.

tears ready. please – a breathless cry.

form me to your image. back arched. lips red.

dug a grave into at your pleasure.

hands tied. ball-gagged. to not utter the wrong words.

a rebel up for public use. please – break me to your will.

slipped myself out of the backdoor

moaned myself into the husk voice of begging to be undone.

spread open to the core. where nothing pleases the eye.

raw hands into the earth. playing without rules.

held and free

stripped naked

bare of anything

slick with wanting

wet with having

screaming loudly while humming softly

pleasure

is a striptease

of all senses

through the centuries

of coming undone

corrinke

corrinke is a poet, story doula, and olympic weightlifter who believes gutwrenching doesn't have to be heavy. she writes about bodies, bloodlines, and the long work of returning to yourself — and occasionally lifts very large things as proof that the body remembers what the mind forgot. based in ericeira, portugal, where the atlantic is rude and she fits right in.

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The Roommates I Never Chose