Dissident Daughters

We are all trained to be female impersonators –
All given a script at birth,
And asked to live out our assigned roles;
Praised and validated for doing such;
Always seeking the father’s approval,
Because we’ve been dutiful daughters;
Bounded formula females,
Compressing our souls into patriarchal corsets.

But what happens when you can see the sets and scripts?
When the fourth wall collapses;
When a woman tosses the script and begins to improvise –
Begins to read the lines written on her heart;When she confronts the father –
The producer, director, and screenwriter of her play,
Who formed male constructs out of women;
What happens when Dorothy sees the man behind the curtain,
And fear dissolves;
When Hedda Gabbler’s further adventures lead her to the furnace,
From which she emerged to confront the writer of her script.

Because to be awake is the only way to truly live;
But first you must be willing to suffer death,
And not just death but suicide;
To be ready and willing like Woolf ,
To kill this constructed impostor,
Before she kills you.