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I am a joke
A fantastic sparkly joke
Up on a billboard in the city
Waiting for a fairy godmother to come
To turn me into a pumpkin
So I can hide from all the laughter

Up above the world I see
All the things that I have never been
And I am just a glorified sign nobody touches
When I cry my tears mingle with the raindrops
No one ever knows that I have cried
Wearing a picture of someone else pretending to be something else

Everything and person rushes to stay young
But I never move as I weather and I fade
Hoping they will leave me be
Just as I hope against hope to be restored
Hatefully craving every face I scorn
Cursed to constant vigilance

The towers grow like weeds to choke me
The people don’t see it
That it’s the buildings that rule the world
When it should be the sky and the air
But the tiny people raise mighty cities to hide from it

No more barbarian blood sacrifice
They offer up little pieces of their brains
Wrapped beautifully in shiny bits of soul
As I smile and sell them things to fill in the holes
At age 7, I was guilty
when I accepted an invitation
to go into the apartment of a neighbor
He smelled of beer as he groped me.

At age 10, I was guilty
when I walked home too late
because I missed the train
He popped out of the bushes
exposing himself.

At age 12, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
tongue into my mouth
because I could not
get away.

At age 14, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
me to sit on his lap
while in my bathing suit
and I ran away from home.

At age 16, I was guilty
when my uncle convinced
everyone that I was a liar
and I quit school.

At age 18, I was guilty
when I gave birth to
my first child,
because I was ignorant.

At age 20, I was guilty
when I saw the cardiologist
in the reflection of a lamp
*******  and the
police laughed at my report.

At age 30, I was guilty
when my employer
trapped me in the elevator
to ***** me, because I
was his subserviant.

At age 36, I was guilty
when I earned jujitsu honors
but risked going to jail
for defending myself.

At age 70, I was guilty
when a neighbor brought
me fruit and grabbed my
breast, because I was alone.

At age 72, I am guilty
of being a ferule woman
for 50 years and for
NOT be silent!
How many times must a woman be guilty for her existence?

— The End —