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