58/365: I Was Never the Same
I wept every night the year I was eleven —
I had learned that my body was expected to produce children —
and, with this involuntary pinning to biology,
I felt doomed to the factory.
I was told what was to happen to me —
the exhausting but exalted mill of service
to biology and someone else's wealth:
knees together, marriage, domestic labour, children —
and, in an abrupt swoop,
all my choices became either submissions or refusals.
Well-meaning relatives frowned.
It was clear I could choose to be loved
or I could choose to be abandoned.
I was never the same.
I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.