He pointed at the curve where my mass should be.
The skinny line wherein the whole of my being should fit--
based on what a man in a lab coat said once.
He dashed a tiny spec above it, where I was.
Out of line.
Not fitting in.
Against the rules.
I counted the tiny squares that separated me from my belonging...
… one... two... three...
Three squares from worthiness.
Three squares wrong.
Three squares from deserving love.
Three squares from good enough.
I stared at that dot a man drew for me and discovered brokenness.
I was five.

To whom do I belong?
To the cold morning
and the unrelenting pound of my feet,
to meet the waistband of my favorite pants.

To whom do I belong?
To the cries of the babe left momentarily alone
while I halt time in the motion of rushing water and clarifying peace
in being simply clean.

To whom do I belong?
To the man who comes home from a career
I gave up to care for others,
To the man who pours into me every need, secret, thought and dream without cease?
While I silently and forever support.

To whom do I belong?
To the child so afraid of the world after years of hurt
Best friend, Gilmore girl, dreamer with an uncertain expiry date.

To whom do I belong?
To the food raised,
The clothes mended,
The laundry flapping in the wind,
The music that surges through my thoughts and never ends
And is reluctantly reminded "later, later, later my friend".

To whom do I belong?
To the old man now dying, tended by many
Yet wanting wanting wanting the role of my beloved or child
While his wife and all push me to take what she has abandoned
To give of me the parts of her she won't share
Untangling from a blackberry bush full of webs.

To whom do I belong?

Men are dogs;
You can hardly call yourself a brother
With no respect for a father's daughter: me.

A man of God are you?
Plead to him for forgiveness, for your wandering eyes
And unfaithful hands.

It is men like you who lust for me,
As if I'm to fulfill a fantasy
Or be your one time secret

I will never be anyone's one time secret.

If your sons had been born daughters
Wouldn't you want them to do the same?

Hey dear women
Don’t you believe?
You’re not less than anyone
Because you bleed!
You are an epitome of abstract
With the universe in your body
And you’re the soul of the earth
Because you bring lives to feet
So never consider yourself any less
Than the men you see
You can also accomplish anything
That you desire to be
Keep your head high
And do what you need
Because we women are the entity
That this world will always need.

"I should have told you more often how gorgeous you are,"
he says while his lips cut deeper into my open wounds,
broken fragments of our memories littered throughout.

"I never wanted to be gorgeous", I say,
feeling his cold hands move through me.
Gorgeous women carry burdens I want no part of.
No, I wanted to be everything else.
I wanted to be loved.

But then you always say it - "baby you're so gorgeous",
and now I'm supposed to thank you for these bones,
for these eyes from my mother,
for a body you wouldn't love when the weight it carried wasn't
"gorgeous."

I lay awake holding love handles and cradling cheeks,
remembering every time a man called me "gorgeous"
and meant usable.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant agreeable.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant better if she's silent.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant too forgiving.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant less than whole.

called me "gorgeous"
and meant less than I am.

"Let me show you the parts of your body I like the most," he says
with a sly smile, constructing a mental roadmap.  
"No, let me show you the pieces of your soul that lured me", I reply.
I want to be introduced to the raw, untamed corners of your mind.
I want to compare the beauty of our understandings.
I want to be asked how it's possible that the entire universe can fit
inside of a kiss, a ring, and an outstretched hand.
I want to know why faces so admired fade from memory so quickly.

I never wanted to be gorgeous.

Her hair smelled like strawberry sun,
her skin lightly powdered like a baker’s bun,
you picture her on your luncheon plate.
Being swallowed by your slimy throat
Will never become her fate.

Nonbeliever
by Kim Cherub

She smiled a thin-lipped smile
(What do men know of love?)
then rolled her eyes toward heaven
(Or that Chauvinist above?).

Kim Cherub is a pen name of Michael R. Burch. Keywords/Tags: God, male chauvinist, religion, Christian, Christianity, Jehovah, Jesus Christ, feminist, feminism, skeptic, nonbeliever, atheist, agnostic

There was a dreadful nail in her shoe
But still she went to pick her child from school

She was in a hurry as she was already late
As she scurried out our wooden gate

I could not believe she had a nail in her shoe
But still she agreed to pick her child from school

The bumpy road and the scorching heat
By her courage, she could easily beat

I couldn’t believe there was a nail in her shoe
But still she agreed to pick her child from school

To subdue all the turns and bumps she did not fail
Despite the scorching heat and the dreadful nail

I could not believe there was a nail in her shoe
But still she agreed to pick her child from school

“Is it not hard to walk” I asked
With a nail in the shoe, it is a big task

“why not go and change instead?”
But some golden words were what she said

“I go through many hurdles my dear”
A nail in the shoe is pretty familiar

The coerce foes are like a nail in my shoe
The devalue of people adds to the pain too

But I turn a deaf ear to them dear
Cause their opinions are unworthy to hear!