poetry

Societal Cancer

By Amy Thomson

It’s everywhere.

Down the street,

Smile beautiful,
Smile baby,
Smile bitch.

On the bus,
eyes crawl my skin,
like fire ants.

In the news,
my pussy
public debate.

At the bar
hawk eyes
guard my drink.

In the schools,
voice muted,
Don’t be a showoff.

At the office,
I take charge,
I’m a bitch,
or fucking the boss, of course.

My one purpose
sexual,
but don’t be a whore.

It seeps into
the hairline cracks
of society.

Rapid metastasis,
it feasts on
the dreams of young girls.

I occupy
too much space,
not just my ass on a park bench,

but my shrill, whiny voice
demanding
to be heard.

Hear me shout,
Hear me yell,
Hear me scream,
For I am one of the lucky ones.

My white shield
protects me from bullets,

My spry limbs
allow me to fight,

My zip code
lets me write this poem,

My identity
saves my life.

Yet,
I’m still just a woman.

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