You Are a Transgression

Imagine

you are a transgression,

Your body

       bursting at the seams,

       peaking out from hems,

       spilling out of necklines,

       onto man's territory.

 

Your mind is a revolt,

Your voice

        pushing against the order

              of silence,

        contradicting the terms

              of your confinement.

 

You are not

        a cup flowing over

        a light passing through a window

        a fruited vine crossing the borders of its field

               to feed the hungry.

 

You are too big

        for the  britches you may not wear.

 

You are not

        until you scale the wall 

        built by your accusers

        and cry:

Go fuck yourself.

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