GENERATIONAL CURSE

Generational curses --
This old lady whom I call Grandma, a rightist conservatist,
Taught my Mother the proper cycle to womanhood -
My Mother then taught me as well,
Her perceived, enlivened rhythm
Yet, rather, this rhythm made me hear a background voice -
Of hollers and roars,
I questioned its sound,
And my Mom explained -
"It is how it is"

When I was six,
The concept of virginity was instilled to me,
I shouldn't ride a bike more often,
Because a thing could tear:
My hymen.
But I shrugged it off,
Because oh my God, I was just a child.

When I was nine,
These older people are pressuring me,
To do the chores
They're telling me that I deserve the kitchen,
When I want the field, the flowers, and the breeze of air

When I was ten,
My older cousin, who was just eighteen
Popped out a living in her womb -
A baby!
I thought a brand new life deserved
Cherished speeches and sparklers,
But how come it was garnering turn downs?
My cousin was deeply humiliated,
But I really didn't fathomed their context
My Mother just told me not to get a boyfriend,
Nor get pregnant in a young age
I nod, yet asked,
"Where was her boyfriend though?"

The next event shocked me;
Because when I was twelve,
I had my first crush.
He was an ace to the academe.
He was smart, wordy, and a teacher's pet
Thus I strived hard and harder
This girl, in able to be liked back
Should forge her truth and adjust to their ideal
My Mom punished me after knowing I'm flinging,
But did not expound why she did what's done.

Finally, on highschool, I'm kind of learning
That a cocoon is just a shell,
And I am a butterfly.
I'm now a teen who's trying to fit in -
Yet the flamboyant flowers are all tenanted;
And I frowned when I saw a leaf -
Vacant and open.
Huffed and flared, I deserve a flower
Because a butterfly is meant for it
Isn't it Mom?
Because even blue and pink,
Cars and dolls,
Yard and kitchen -
Are all genderized.

Six, nine, and sixteen.
I was sixteen,
When I dressed up
A fashion I'm hooked.
I look in the mirror confidently,
And saw how pretty I was
With this mesh top beneath a strapless bra,
Paired with a pink cute plaid skirt-
Ready to hop off!
Until this outfit was caught,
What I'm wearing is an invite to the beasts,
My Mom told.
I felt I was like a balloon-
Soaring near the sky, only to be hit by a trunk-
I was deflated.
But whatever! I deserve an escape.

I flied like a butterfly
Searching, of course, still for flowers
From here to there--
I bumped a bee, and the sting per se tingled me
How dare this man stare and touch my bossom?
He yelled,
A flaunted skin, shall be poked and taunted-
And I realized, my Mom was right.

I was seventeen,
Retorting for my choices of clothes,
Choices of actions,
Choices in life, as a whole of the jingbang.
Maybe femininity is a curse itself?

Yet, now I'm twenty -
When I thought,
My two decades,
And their millennium
To womanhood
Is hugely maligned, aggrieved,
Neglected and oppressed.
The complexity of this gender and sex,
Is a social construct,
And the older generation;
My Grandma and my Mom -
Are victimized.

These generational curses,
Should be a broken symmetry
Patriarchy has to be smashed-
And the underlying issues:
Misogyny, sexism, gender stereotyping
Rape culture and victim blaming --
Are not at all deserved by thee:
The bearer of the future generation,
Nor my Mom, who was a product
Of the older conservative culture.