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Rated: E · Poetry · Women's · #1031942
About the restraints placed on professional women and how they deal with that pressure.
With my hair pulled back-
so tight it's tearing out my brain-
swamped in louse pants-too big
to cling-hidden in starch white
white collar shirt-suffacated
by professional black
vest (the kind always good
fo a funeral), pressed and neat-
strangled in sober gray tie
(as light as i'm allowed to get)
as dark as a storm laden sky-
like an old slinky I sink
into my blinding yellow couch-
tilt my head-gaze through the heavens
peeping skylight- flinging
sharp pins from serious bunn-
shaking my heavy head
in the light of the full moon,
cast from the shadow of "The Man...",
I become a woman.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1031942