Seven Years

Wed, 01/09/2019 - 12:20 -- dmhagan

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


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