A few years ago, I did a brilliant thing. Then I sort of forgot I did it. Until tonight. A few years ago, I established a list of prompts, one for each day of the year, that I could use in a pinch if I needed to write and wasn’t sure what to write about. I pulled it out and looked at it; today’s prompt just said “Ashamed”. It’s a good prompt. You can do a lot with it. All of us know about shame (well, maybe not members of the Trump family). We have felt it, sometimes for good reasons, when we do something to be ashamed of. Other times, we just…sink into shame for no reason, or at least not one we can fathom. Tonight’s poem is about the latter.

ASHAMED

 Why am I ashamed?
Ashamed of my body?
Ashamed of my face?
Ashamed of my mind?
Why do I speak of my body in whispers,
Afraid to use the words out loud?
What is so bad, so dangerous,
So evil about a woman’s body
That the very words we use to describe it
Are covered with shame, fear, and disgust?

 Vagina…try to say it.
Try to say it without blushing.
Vulva…a little easier, perhaps.
Most people aren’t clear on what
A vulva is.
Breasts…even chicken breasts
Cause titters and giggles
Especially in the young,
Especially in the male.

 Shame. Fear. Disgust.
Loathing.
Why do I loathe my body?
It isn’t a perfect body.
It’s an aging body,
But that’s not why I am ashamed.
I was ashamed when it was a young body,
A thin body,
A body with curves and a small waist.
A body desired by men.

 So why am I ashamed?
It is just a body…
A body like other bodies…
Just a vehicle that houses me.
Is that it?
Maybe I am not ashamed of my body.
Maybe I am ashamed of me.

 Why am I ashamed?