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The first line was drawn
around twelve years of age,
maybe sooner.
Boys grasped the elastic band
of that newly required
much hated bra,
executing an archer’s release, the
impact pocking my back, pain
and staccato laughter
a momentary invasion
of my territory.
Much later, when I grew a child,
the whole world wanted in
on our creation,
strangers patted me,
a gentle but invasive touch,
drawn by curiosity and fueled
by the glow of entitlement.
In decades between these events
and beyond,
I have lived near a half
century of borders,
which apparently were drawn only
to be breached.
Oh, woman, you know
all too well;
there are hands
and words, many well-meaning,
some rough and unkind,
feathers to mortar shells
they are felt
within this cage of
hide and fat and muscled bone.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Territory

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