Privilege

My story is too mainstream. My story is a pink pussy & Margaret Atwood.

“Date rape” as we used to call it.

my story is anorexia & trying to please everyone.

My story, the oppression of religion,

a woman as chewed gum, backwash mixed up in a dixie cup, average levels of hormones as our god-given identity.

I do fear men, I used to wish I was one. Strong, confidant, taking what was mine without asking if I deserved it.

I used to be one of those who said “I just don’t get along with most other girls” because I didn’t get along with myself.

My story is privilege, the privilege of being groped in clubs, of being desirable.

I have the privilege to smile at the cute cat-callers & give ugly ones the finger.

My privilege is to have a baby when & if I want .

I am a white woman who comes from wealth, Christianity & education. I have two parents.

I am the next step down from the apex

after Donald Trump, James Franco & Bukowski.

Only my sex is “other”

I know this & evenĀ this burns so deeply

even being called “sweetheart” by a stranger

even being talked over by a less useful but more authoritative voice stings.

I can’t imagine being two steps down.

Nor can I imagine a world without this absurd hierarchy.

It is absurd & it’s this way because those who are the best at violence get to run things. Those (we) at the top are war mongers.

We at the top elected him to represent us.

We. People exactly like me.

People afraid to lose their next step down status.

I am so sorry.

I want to help, I try to help, I’m not sure if I do help.

I will try harder.

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