When a girl is born with a hand upon her head, 

She's pinned down by a green ribbon 'round her neck

And a river of shame that flows through her breasts.

But it's her hands that continue to bloom, 

Soft and warm as sunlight christening June, 

Born to create, condemned to servitude. 

But it's her womb that invites public scrutiny.

An under-studied double bind of artist...

Read and leave comments (2)