Woman Made
always the same shop of decency
from where my books and dresses are bought.
my nationality is decided by the
identity i hold between my legs.
i have no Pandora’s Box
in whose depth, i can store my fantasies.
it comes swimming to me, his battle ground;
bringing me currencies, carnal, banal.
other times, my timidity decides
how not to find me left, mid-way.
i flick my pages; a constitution i’ve become,
placed at the highest pedestal; to be violated
again and again.
*Previously published by Gloom Cupboard, USA
