My short skirt
is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.
My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.
My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.
My short skirt, believe
it or not
has nothing to do with
you.
My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower
calves
about cool autumn air
traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything
I see
or pass or feel to live
inside.
My short skirt is not
proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little
girl.
My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make
me afraid
My short skirt is not
showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover
it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.
My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the
ground.
I am here.
I am hot.
My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women’s
army
I declare these streets,
any streets
my vagina’s country.
My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored
fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a
foreign town
my short skirt is a wild
spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is
initiation
appreciation
excitation.
But
mainly my short skirt
and
everything under it
is
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
