These Days

Rage is not a word associated with

Femininity is supposed to equal

Docility: a word I’ve heard mostly to describe either animals or

Women are supposed to be motherly, and sweet, and kind,

But the rage beats under my skin like a drum

Thump-thumps into my heartbeat where it intertwines with the

Thrum of the blood in my veins and it is

Exhausting

Like the sigh of breath that crawls from my throat

Like the ache of my eyes as I read the news

The typeface on the paper branding me like a cattle iron

Like the shaking of my hands when I raise my voice

Sound waves making my body tremor like an earthquake

Little girls aren’t supposed to be angry but these days it’s a

Constant streams of horrors like a knife in the ears, and then my

Tears are supposedly a mark of weakness, but they’re really just

Salt water burns your throat and dries out from the inside, but it’s rising up into

Florida bans books nonstop, burying children in a mountain of

You’re-not-school-appropriate

And people wonder why I’m furious all the time