HER CRIME

A man laughs

A woman heaps me with scorn. But why? Am I a criminal? Ah yes! They say,

Your crime was being born.

But wait! Hold on!

Is it I who is the thorn?

For wearing a dress

And painting my face.

Or is it you? Who ridicule Whose crime was being born.

Here, look at me!

Past my dress and painted face Am I so foreign?

No, just human, just lonely.

Just a woman.

Whose crime was being born.

SHE-HE

Donna Ann - 5-L-11

I look in the mirror,

And it is me,

But it is more than me.

It is a she.

Coveting clothes made not for her.

Lace and silk

For the woman sex.

Gives to her a pastel grace

Not there when she is he. Girdled in I cross my silk

smooth legs and stare

A man no more,

I think, what fools we be

Not to see ourselves a she......

80

MONICA

35-L-5