to she who has lived

her life for other people

and what they want from her

nuzzling at her purring teat

taking the last cookie from

the jar, the one

she was saving, but not

leaving a damn note,

I give her a voice

to say " I

am tired of being eclipsed

and walking off the

bruises that come from

the stations of the

cross you bitches demand."

and yet they

eat on

not hearing a word until

she pulls

the calloused nipple

and goes to happy hour.