And if you don’t believe any of this, if you think that the patriarchy is the invention of angry, man hating dykes…you aren’t just part of the problem, you are the glass ceiling, you are the middle man, a facilitator. You are grey, the in between.
The bystander, the questioner, the rhetorical aftermath…
wardrobe, alcohol and rohypnol.
And bracing for it,
hidden in the silence.
A geyser under the ice.
Fire clawing through.
In the silence…an outlet.
Trickling in hot, molten bullets.
Words scribbled in bloody ink,
a canvas painted in fear, pain, and shame.
Anger just held back,
lips curved in the Joker’s smile.
A barbed lump in her throat.
Needless to say,
Feminist Theory, 2210 just lost a little bit of lustre.