Jane had pretty poetry And hands the size of shoes And swirling inky look-at-me tattoos On the trophy shelves of her skin And Jane never thought twice about you And nor did she digress; Don’t help me once, just hurt me less Yet in the eyes of everyone Jane was a trailer-worthy mess. And some sweet girls they said things about Jane How small and suffocating cotton would stick to her skin How a boy with dark hair and slinky eyes Boasted about the game and the win- Yet no one ever seemed to whisper anything poisonous about him. Friends, teachers, the do-gooders and world-changers Her righteous church-community youth leader Would always have their little snickers of Jane And that's what drove her from church. And no one ever had the nerve to ask Jane How much did it hurt, When she turned the corner and for her half-shared actions Faced all the useless, unfair blame. No, not one silly citizen Of that forsaken town in its forsaken place Had the courage to go up to Jane And say this simple truth: That malicious folks could say what they wanted; But she couldn’t be defined by that one little word. Slut. Was not what she was.
More articles by Category: Arts and culture, Feminism
More articles by Tag: Poetry, Sexism, Activism and advocacy, Discrimination, High school