i think i might have zoochosis, i wish i could prowl like the streets are my enclosure, but there’s
a man who slows down his car when i’m walking, runs his eyes up my legs through his
sunglasses, and reminds me that the streets will never be mine, as long as there is curve to me,
i would give anything to be shapeless, these gazes are so heavy, and they make me so tired,
but there’s a man in the keyhole so i must make sure i don’t slouch, my back bows with the
weight, i will be crooked and then maybe i won’t be wanted, everyday i’m told i’m different, like
i’m something to collect, and he can put me on his shelf, he can stare at me as much as he
wants and i can’t move, he can touch me and no one else can, i am a used woman, i don’t think
i’ll ever be my own, and they are so heavy, and i am so tired, and i want to lose weight, to be
empty, and men will fill me up again, with those steel eyes of theirs, the way it penetrates right
to your heart, so even your core is not your own, there is nothing in you that can remain
untouched, i can’t breathe without a man’s hand down my throat, i want to be whatever it is they
want, if only they wouldn’t look at me the way they do, i might just shave my head and never
sleep again, i might just slice my gut open and crawl into the tripe, and never leave, and i’ll
sustain myself on the pieces of my tongue that i’ve swallowed through the years, and i’ll weep
for dido, i’ll wring my hands for ophelia, tear out my hair for desdemona, put the used women on
the pyre, and i’ll burn them right up, i’ll make sure it’s all gone, and when there is nothing left of
me, nothing for those steel eyes to stare at, i will prowl the streets like i wanted to.
Isabella Lane
Year 13
Rangitoto College
