i wonder
is valentine’s day when women feel-
what?-
relieved?
that they got flowers?
photos of which they can post on Facebook?
maybe it validates their existence?
i got flowers therefore i exist?
it’s like that high school game we used to play
on valentine’s day
if we got flowers,
we could strut.
because it said
we mattered.
(and you only mattered if you mattered to a man.)
(girlfriends don’t count. your puppy dog does not count. your teachers don’t count.)
(you don’t count. whatever love you may feel for yourself is
nothing
compared to what a man feels for you.)
you didn’t get flowers
you slink in the shadows.
for shame.
(what is wrong with you?)
is it the same now, i wonder.
what kind of woman are you that you
haven’t gotten a man to give you flowers?
what have you got to show for all those years of taking up space on earth
if you don’t have those darned flowers
that will give you a pass to polite society?
maybe you’ve done nothing apart from being a man’s appendage.
which is why
once you get a hold of those overpriced motherfuckers
you gotta post them on Facebook.
having no self apart from that man,
and having no magical worlds inside you–apart and away from the maddening crowd, –you rush to those who you would have define you and say, “do you see me now because i see me now, whew, shit. i got flowers.”
i exist!
(fingers appear then limbs then torso then face than body).
Wow
She Writes 