in never getting angry, never showing emotion
a privilege of the powerful one,
the one who treads upon,
who has never been underfoot
But the one with the foot on her throat
must get angry to fight
or slowly suffocate,
fight to be heard while
the devout one cuts off her oxygen,
lungs straining to supply logic and words
to her brain
Her anger, indignation, sorrow
is judged emotional,
drama,
a lack of control
her own damn fault
for not being content
to find a comfortable spot under the shoe
She is shamed for not appreciating
the kindly smile and loving way he
corrects her,
for making him feel uncomfortable
with her struggle to breathe.
It is exhausting
this struggle to simply be,
this hope of living in love
when there are so many eager feet,
so many vulnerable necks
So much security cultivated by controlling another person’s inhale and exhale.
Prairie Sings 