there’s something
about
complete
condemnation
that makes my back bristle…
that makes my shoulders square
that makes my chin lift, and
wakes the sleeping giant
of pride
–rudely.
I am not the
scarlet woman
you cast me,
I am not
grist for your mill,
I am not
absolute bad, and
your jacket
does not
fit me
–because after all–
it’s your jacket.
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