The Other Gender
A Poem of Women’s Suffering
My life wasn’t as demanding as my gender;
Earning a living wasn’t as constant of a job as defending my chastity;
Making a show with puppets wasn’t as artistic as playing too many puppet roles a day;
Staying at home wasn’t as suffocating as being doomed under the thumb;
Being forthright wasn’t as challenging as denying the truth for oneself.
Sacrificing a few periods of sleep wasn’t brewing as much bitterness as never letting the other one awake;
Beholding or reaching for your favorite dessert wasn’t as hard of work as keeping it wrapped from germs or from the blame of being called polluted;
Looking upon the suffering wasn’t as piercing as going through the suffering itself;
Telling someone that she’s wrong wasn’t as difficult as looking at one’s own dark doctrine;
Tugging any noticeable weight wasn’t as heavy of the labor as dragging the walking corpses drowned in eternal slumber;
An infant perhaps wasn’t as helpless as She shrunk and voiceless under fear;
Stopping burying alive wasn’t as much of an accomplishment as living for a meaning besides merely to survive.
Aspiring to gain a near impossible purpose wasn’t as inspiring as working and yearning intensely for someone else to achieve their goal;
Born a slave was not as crippling as being born a woman.
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