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April 22, 2016 - 3:05 p.m.
How to rise above an unseen glass ceiling? I beat myself up, to beat him to the blow. Setting expectations low. I feel myself seething. How many questions can you ask in these timed trials tribulations and trepidations Even when you don't care for yourself except on principle. Principal. Principles. Disciples. Desponds. Devoted followers.But what if the person who is supposed to oversee, sees only what they want to see not you? Rising to the top is not an option when you were at odds to begin with stacked but not in your favour despite ticking all the boxes marginal female oppressed depressing, yes. You could not do more. Even you know this. Can you wait it out, without outing yourself Absenting yourself from this running running ruining exhausting. In a box I'd beat this beat all the odds even myself. Boxed in. Rings
around these rose coloured glasses. Outmatched. Revealed. Putting makeup on bruises I didn't know had healed. But there are voices and partners I can't dance around, skirting the issue the questions I feel swimming up my thighs, into the tastefully unmentioned areas of gender and sex I am the problem the problem, child. Sorting out yours, theirs, and raising them. Hell, I've raised myself in a system that didn't know I existed until I screamed present demanding a seat at the table, raised at one, where I was always taught that it was okay to ask for more. You don't appreciate this. You twist these pleas, making pleasant plans into present pains uneasy. I don't know which ghost I'm dancing with; my own anger at past fences unmended; or a host of unanswered doubts, and sign posts upended. I wave goodbye to myself, when you walk by.
Reaching to connect, shut out, chin lifted. Struggling, sweating to make meaning and to hear myself move. I have an audience of none. Audience of one. If only. Wanting to be seen. You buy no tickets. You shut down the show. You are a closed house. Lights out. The disempowerment show.
I got my own box to hoist myself up to see over that fence, the equity lenses rosy in my glasses your house, transparent so close to breaking me down so many times. I'm tougher than I look but not that tough I break sometimes and you see weakness, but I'm brave just to be here knocking at your door, still looking for your approval even though I'm sick with wanting sick that I feel like this, needing a word, when mine are the ones that ring louder, in my head, calling you out like I can't in real time because shattered glass makes for dangerous learning and this is your house.
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