SONNET: The Circle with the Upside-Down Lower-Cased T

sometimes i wonder when reading about those days
when your body was soft and anxious to take in the thrusting of men that are not me
what drove you to Ani: what made you find a soft solace in her stiff strumming
and round-bodied guitar, slightly smaller than mine to better take her fingers like you wished to take yours.

i bet you would like Feministing: but at the same time i wonder if that would be too much for you—
we all know the glass ceiling is there, and dammit, i am trying to break it with little rocks of knowledge
but i wonder if you really care: i don't think a little less in the check would keep you from wanting to grab men by the throat
and choke them with your words and lines and your sweet sweet indents.

Marjorie Kemp is a hero of yours, i'm sure, but how did this come about?
what happened when you were, say, seventeen that made your blood boil and your hormones rage against mine?
what spoutings of the Holy Catholic Church made you want to take the blood of Christ and bathe in it?
i mean, i think i know, but i'm just wondering what finally did you in.

i guess i can see why these things would come about, but i know you are less about the why and more about the is:
the why are those girls in slutty clothes that you despise and have no sympathy for.

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