an ire for bards and other things.

sit still, look pretty.

dear patriarchy,

does dressing me up,
make you feel in control?
painting a smile onto my lips,
wrapping my waist till the breath hitches in my throat,
keeping me quiet with a strike across the face,
insisting i cover every inch of my skin with fabric, but forcing me to tear it away at the flicker of your mouth —
does the short leash compliment your fragility?
all this power, and yet you still bristle at the thought of giving us more than one seat at the table.

you've put us through
the trials,
the hangings,
the rape,
the forced marriage,
the lesser-than mentality;
the thought that we must be married and have children to be proper,
the idea that we were created to serve you, and
nothing more.

you put yourself ahead by hundreds of years;
be thankful that all we want now is
a chance to catch up.

sincerely,
it's been long enough.