Seven Years
Theseus’s paradox raises the question
If a ship’s parts are replaced as they rot
One by one, until all of the parts are new,
Is it the same ship?
A medical myth raises the question
If a person’s cells gradually die
And are replaced every seven years
Are they the same person?
From the moment of my birth, the part of me that says “no”
Will be replaced by one that says “no, thank you”,
Then “yes, please, please, please-
I’ll do anything you say just please-”
And if my “yes” isn’t loud enough,
Maybe I'll just stay quiet
And let him have his way
Let him wring his hands around my throat like a collar
Like an animal, like the dog he calls me
“Bitch!” he howls, spittle flying in arcs from his chops,
Falling in drops on his dewlap
I cower, tail between my legs, and wonder
Am I still the same person as seven years ago?
Can I still call myself ‘Diana’, or am I
Someone entirely different?
I hope that seven years from now, I can call myself by a much cooler name
One that’s worthy of the power I hope to have
Because saying no is an act of defiance
And I am a rebel, and if graceless spit flies from my mouth
I hope it lands on his face
Seven years from now
I will be the same ship, but stronger
Seven years from now
I will be the same person, but braver
If a woman who stands up for herself is a bitch, then I want to be a bitch when I grow up