What am I worth?
Should I care about a whistle for a drink? A wink for a chat?
How it seems that every call, “ciao,” look, or intentional movement is reaffirmed with every sip that I take.
That commodification—becoming a transaction—is perhaps the single most limiting experience known to a woman.
Understanding that my words don’t come close to what’s under my dress.
How should I feel empowered when I am made to feel like skin housing bones with convenient entrance points glorified and exploited by men?
Does a gin and tonic equal my time and worth?
There must be a price tag I can’t see because men ask me mine as I mind my business.
Written July 23, 2023
