I’m starting to forget. can you remind me?

I miss when I was a girl and not a goal

When my feelings weren’t firewood but freedom; I am a flame

of womanhood’s angry coal.

I miss the grocery store aisles bending to my stroll

without taunt-rotten mouths striking perversity on my name;

I miss when I was a girl and not a goal.

I am an open book that they stole

they wrote fear and chafed my thighs with it. they make a game

of womanhood’s angry coal.

Before attention’s disease took my mind, burnt holes

of lusting eyes in my skin and the sacred fat off my hips, replaced it with shame;

I miss when I was a girl and not a goal.

the smartest woman I know taught me, in placation lies true control

I grew up watching her shrink. her honor follows me still. for us, I adopt the surname

of womanhood’s angry coal

like my writing hand, like both of my feet, is my soul;

utterly left. But still I stand, for I am nothing if not the proudest, reddest frame

of womanhood’s angry coal.

I’m starting to forget; will you remind me?

was I ever just a girl and not a goal?