Kristie L. Williams
received a B.A. in English/Creative Writing from Saint Andrews Presbyterian College and a MAEd. in Adult Education at East Carolina University.
She has been previously published by Main Street Rag, Dan River Review, Cairn and Maximum Tilt Solstice Anthology. Her work will also appear in the upcoming issue of Hermit Feathers Review.
When she’s not writing, she spends time advocating for people with disabilities, participating in adaptive recreation, reading great books, and going to rock concerts.
Daddy says I used to be perfect …
‘Til I turned twelve,
Got my period,
BECAME A WOMAN.
Now I run with the wolves, he says.
Digging up the bones of others,
Piecing together a body,
A past of women
Whose lives place them in
Concentration camps of
Experiment with themselves,
BELL JARS BECOME HOMES.
As the pressure builds,
The poking and prodding
Of that eternal lover
Evokes such excitement,
Realizing I have not gone in search of woman,
Asking for the Ideal specimen,
I have not fought my conformity,
NOR HAVE I EMBRACED IT.
To those of you who bitch and moan …
Do you even know why?
I sit silent,
A voice within me,
I don’t need to prove a past
Filled with ideals of false realities and
Experiment with contaminated souls,
I am me
That is enough.
Responding To Words Written On The Slate Of Her Vagina
Wrapping your legs around the most malevolent
offerings to fall from masculine mouths;
Swallowing whole their gospels
because your own are stifled;
As long as you shrink
There is no context for discovering
the soul of your hallelujah.
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