I feel as though I'm always under someone's thumb
These days.
I suppose it's not that I ever didn't,
Just that I always thought it would go away
Someday.
You know?
But everywhere I go
There always seems to be a man waiting
To tell me how best to exist
To explain to me
Something I already know
To give me- in the well meaning sort of way that makes my teeth itch-
Advice
On how best to conduct my life.

I'm sure you know the feeling.
I'm sure you've felt it too
And done what I always find myself doing--

Taking criticism you wonder if you'd get
If you weren't a woman.

Nodding through patronizing explanations
Of things you learned years ago.

Smiling meekly at detailed (and unsolicited) evaluations of your character,
Of all the minute things you do and don't do
And how you should do them or not do them
Differently.

"Oh really? Thank you, I'll be sure to do better next time."
I'll be sure to
Be
Better next time.

You say it out of instinct. Out of weariness.
Because you don't really fancy a fight, do you?
Not with someone so much
Bigger and stronger than you
In every classroom
In every workplace
In every system
In life.

If a man were to take a swing at me
Literally
I'm sure I'd be more apt to swing back
And better prepared
Than if he swung with the weight of his privilege
A mean
Right hook.
It's why they so seldom (relative to the alternative, at least)
Swing in the physical world:
Usually the blow lands just fine
As a criticism
Or a joke
Or even a look-
An assertion of
Dominance.
A reminder
Of who is really
In charge here.

And you find yourself
-I find myself-
Acquiescing
Oh I'm so sorry I'm not what you wished I was,
I'll
Change
So that you can be more comfortable.
Oh yes
Right away

Sir.

Everything you don't know
Is a weapon they've got to use against you.

Everything you say and do,
Ammunition.

Places you linger too long
And places you vacate too quickly,

They are marks against your name

Proof that you could always be more
Like them

Be better
Like them

(But not too much "better", or you're
Bossy
Rude
Abrasive.
Just "better" enough to assure them that
They're still the standard.)

But the thing is,
All this surrender,
It builds up.
You don't dissolve when you swallow yourself like a pill for them
Paint a sugary smile on your face
For them
And make sure they know you just aren't smart enough
Just aren't tough enough
To live without their guidance.
When you lie to survive
Those moments STAY.
They stick in your throat as you walk away.
They come back to you
Acidic and harsh
As you try to fall asleep.

That feeling
The feeling of acquiescence
It festers inside you
And it
NEVER really stops
Does it?

I don't know...
I just thought it would stop.
I thought
It would stop
After middle school.
And I thought
It would stop
After high school.
And I thought
It would stop
After college.

And it hasn't.