This reminds me of Little Light's "The seam of skin and scales". I am not a poetry person, but good god did that rock me. I still read it at least once a year
I have this delightful mental image of Alfred Kinsey and Karl Bowman having apoplexies and furiously scribbling through this book while Louise Lawrence sits in the corner transcribing Petticoat Punishment erotica and laughing at them.
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Now more than ever. In *this political moment* more than ever.
It didn’t matter how much I was abused or raped, because no amount of coercive violence would make me actively participate in manhood.
Doesn’t mean I was a woman as a kid- I just.,, wasn’t much of anything.