what is it that keeps me here?
here, listening patiently, waiting for my turn
while you casually discuss my worth?
why does my heart linger in this place?
i know you will probably hurt me.
this conference isn’t accessible
a few six-inch steps push feminism out of reach
you fix it quickly of course
while your fingers toss loose strands of hair into a neat little bun,
you move the meetings i circle on a paper.
i’ve been here before
in fact, i come from a long lineage [line] of people who have been here
the fact that you moved the meetings for me is a big deal, i get it okay?
still i cannot understand how you did not expect people like me when feminism and organizing is so damn relevant to our lives
disabled women, poor women, and women of color were (and ARE) sterilization and instutionalized
being told we’re unworthy is how, as young girls, we develop our sense of self
when we have children, we’re punished and ostracized [hated].
just like they take away our babies, doctors encourage mothers to abort people like us
while equal gender pay triumphs your discourse, we can’t even GET jobs.
no i’m not saying your issues aren’t important, i know you have to deal too
i just wish you had a concept of what happens to me
my life, my people
but how can you when we’re excluded from your anthologies?
our feminism is thriving— we have the best writers and thinkers
but i don’t expect you to know about that: you deny our very existence so you can focus on things that advance people like yourself
cause yeah, that’s really why we have social justice, eh?
to fight for our own rights and screw over whoever we have to get them, right?
i guess it’s those disabled, woc, queer feminist writers that keep me here. my heart is invested in them.