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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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