As life returns to normal, post-COVID infection, I thought it might be an idea to write some longer form poems for the next 30 days, to get me back into the business of routine. Fortunately, Twitter has provided an event for that: #NaPoWriMo, which is part of #NationalPoetryMonth.
#14: Almost halfway through National Poetry Month and NaPoWriMo: today’s Poem is, again, another rejection from a collection, as I move to repurpose a phenomenal amount of work. It was, on reflection, the weakest part of a strong selection. presumably, once I can make everything string, I might succeed…
Thank you for taking the time to read, and please comment if you like this 😀
Stigma /ˈstɪɡmə/ . noun . a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person. . . Loud, stupid girl, that witch who always ruins everything: introverted, badly-dressed sewn patches, gold brocade, white lace the mental girl we love to hate disgraceful adjectives are commonplace. Five decades on, nothing has changed women hold back, must never swear: make noise, object to circumstance offer alternatives to status quo; abuse is now considered out of place does not stop you yelling in my face. That day you picked up, threw a chair at me because I didn’t act as you saw fit: yelling abuse through window’s steamy space because I dared to challenge circumstance; stigma is other’s badge to pin with pride except we know the pain you hold, inside.