The Ravaged Bitch

by Raquel Lara

I sit here

with trauma hanging

heavy on my heart,

hanging like glass

ready to shatter

if hit fast with words that cut

like a razor blade

that can easily pierce

the skin.

Father instead of giving

you have taken,

as that is all you

have ever seemed to do.

Father, you take, take, take,

from me, from momma, from women.

It is what is natural,

what is manly, 

machismo

is what us Mexicans call it.

Ese machismo, you’ve got to love it.

For its blunt expression

Like a slap across the face,

no visible bruises appear,

no welts arise,

but the pain

lingers long after

as the words

never truly go away.

Machismo, rears its ugly head

making sure we women know

what should exist

and what does not,

a true monster it is indeed.

The control a man has

even when initially conceived,

being given two balls

and a penis 

seems quite silly in theory, 

how can such insignificant

things hold such power, 

but oh!

The power of society,

the generational conformity

is what let’s men be

the master of the ring,

the puppeteer holding

women on strings

moving us this way

and that way, dancing us

and dropping us callously.

Father, I hurt,

I hurt like a wounded pup

crying helplessly.

I hurt that you don’t see 

me for me,

me who loves,

me who cares,

me who has empathy.

You see only

what you have

allowed me to be

a ravaged bitch,

ferocious and quick

ready to bite viciously,

ready to attack uncontrollably

with words that destroy

like the ones you used

to destroy me.