by his ignorance.
by his lack of ability to see beyond greed.
by the loneliness of the company of a man who has no dimension.
from the division he inflicts with his ideals of working together.
He calls this love,
this blatant manipulation of who/what/when/how;
he calls this love,
this oppressive shield of control
that he believes covers the insecurities that he denies he has.
He thinks I am beautiful
lying still on the bottom of this cage.
He thinks my wings look pretty
folded tight against my body,
and aching from never having stretched them.
He likes it when I sing
as long as it is quiet and there is no one to hear me.
It is when they hear my voice
that he realizes what he has got to lose,
and then he drapes a veil over the bars of this abyss
he calls love.
© Lisa Tate, July 1, 2006.
Winner - 2011 Cowichan Women Against Violence Poetry Competition
Featured at the Vagina Monologues Preformance, Cowichan Theatre.