January 5th, 2009


My Short Skirt

I don't usually post the words of other people, unless they are personal friends, however recently I find myself loaded with cruel, poisionous words, and I'm not sure I want to share them yet, if at all. This monologue by Eve Ensler rings particularly true for me this morning, so I thought I would share it instead. This monologue is from Eve Ensler's play, "The Vagina Monologues", which is performed all over the country around Valentines Day. If you haven't seen it yet, do so, it is likely to be playing at a college campus near you.

My Short Skirt, by Eve Ensler

It is not an invitation
a provocation
an indication
that I want it
or give it
or that I hook.

My short skirt
is not begging for it
it does not want you
to rip it off me
or pull it down.

My short skirt
is not a legal reason
for raping me
although it has been before
it will not hold up
in the new court.

My short skirt, believe it or not
has nothing to do with you.

My short skirt
is about discovering
the power of my lower calves
about cool autumn air traveling
up my inner thighs
about allowing everything I see
or pass or feel to live inside.

My short skirt is not proof
that I am stupid
or undecided
or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is my defiance
I will not let you make me afraid
My short skirt is not showing off
this is who I am
before you made me cover it
or tone it down.
Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness
I can feel myself on the ground.
I am here. I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation
flag in the women's army
I declare these streets, any streets
my vagina's country.

My short skirt
is turquoise water
with swimming colored fish
a summer festival
in the starry dark
a bird calling
a train arriving in a foreign town
my short skirt is a wild spin
a full breath
a tango dip
my short skirt is

But mainly my short skirt
and everything under it
is Mine.