I am not a product of abuse…

     no cuts or bruises mar my visage.

I am a survivor of indifference….

     proud of the scars upon my psyche and the mended fractures to my resolve.

And so I live with the uneasy truce

     between who I see in the mirror and the worn out images

held up in reference

     so that I might try, tirelessly, to compete with a stereotype which has never evolved.

My success?

     Downplayed.

My dreams?

     Limited.

My identity?

     Predetermined.

So still I come home to clean, cook, and amuse

     as if there had been no woman’s suffrage,

and I smile and nod in deference

     as those around me try to force me to devolve.

But I know my strength and my views

     and I feel not alone, as I am but one in this strong female lineage.

So ignore me and worse… make your inferences.

   I know I’m good getting better as I absolve…

your hateful sin of indifference.

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All rights to owner. As seen on Enlightened Conflict

    

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