The Making of a Woman

        I watch the saliva gather at the corners of your mouth as the words roll off
your nicotine
coated tongue.
        The letters reach me in a stale breath of warm alcohol,
        forming phrases that build a barbed wire fence around my heart.
"Worthless . . . never amount to anything . . . waste of money . . . "
        A hand is raised to strike my feminist ideals.
        I have become numb to the blows,
        but not to the words . . . they always seem to sneak in.

        How can you tell me that women are nothing?
My great grandmother raised four girls by herself during the depression, and my
held three jobs so that she could provide for her family while her husband was at war.
        What do you know about being a woman?

        I am thankful that you do not know the meaning of strength or the meaning
of love,
because then you would have a weapon far greater than your fist.
        The scars you leave with me were delivered by self-loathing and fear.
You lack the courage to deliver them yourself.

        My education is complete, I will no longer be a canvas for your pain.
        I am tired of cloudy skies.
        I am ready to accept the strength of those that have taught me,
how to be a woman.

by Stephanie Ogden

© 1998 Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope Online

Last update: 1 July 1998


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