In my house
I am a genius
Every thought, every word;
Eloquent poetry
My hand is a wand
That paints the most beautiful
Pictures for the eyes
I am an equal to my husband
Who cooks meals for me
Because my place is at the typewriter
I am equal to him
In philosophy
In vision
In bed
But when I step out onto the street
I am no longer who I was
My intelligence leaves me
And I can no longer perform
Such simple tasks as driving
"Stupid Bitch" becomes my name
Or "Dumb cunt"
My ears become deafened
By the shouts and calls of deep voices
And my hand is a wand to shield my eyes
From their gestures
“Suck on this, baby!”
The grocer becomes my enemy
The man on the corner stares as I pass by
In this world my value is measured
By the length of my leg
 And the size of my breasts
My anger is dismissed as a monthly occurrence
 I have no business in politics or religion
So I return to my house
Wise and bitter
Every thought and word becomes angry and stifled
My hand is a wand that shakes in fury
I cannot see beauty in this world
So I close my eyes and welcome sleep
Then wait for the day to start again