feminism
the oxygen
I inhale gratefully
often desperately
in a world where
rapists’ reputations
and futures
are held in higher regard
greater importance
than the legacy of trauma
that has been inflicted
on girls
on women
against their will
where old white men
declare balls of dividing cells
have more rights
than living breathing women
reducing us to incubators
to cows for milking
where I was seen
as two breasts
a womb
and a vagina
until I turned 50
and was suddenly
no longer visible at all
feminism is the iron
I pump into my veins
to replenish me
when I am bled dry
by the knowledge
of how many women
chose a president like Trump
over their sisters
over themselves
some days
I wear black in mourning
Some days
I wear the red of resistance
and other days I even wear pink
in solidarity

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© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved