BARE: Uncensored Poetry30/30
Day #7: SHARDS OF GLASS
SHARDS OF GLASS
His knuckles bled.
I never knew why. I always wondered: did he punch walls or gnaw on them like a dog with a bone? At a glance, he seemed urbane and cultured. Well-cut three-piece suits, heavy French cuffs, and understated silk ties. And yet, an aura of barely restrained violence wafted around him, intertwined with the stifling smoke from his ever-present cigar. He said very little, but one glance withered the healthiest of plants.
I did admire his intellect, the experience and expertise he had. The power he so effortlessly wielded, manipulating and moulding the lives of others, overwhelmed me. Still, instinctively, I knew this was knowledge I needed if I was ever to cause positive change. So I worked hard, studying his words, actions and thoughts.
The first time it happened, I gaslit myself.
Surely he wasn’t staring at my girls? Yep, nope, yep — he was. I felt his cold old man eyes graze my body. I struggled to articulate advice to the assembled Board of Directors. Hot flushes of shame shot through my body, red cheeks of embarrassment, and a desperate desire to hide under a rock.
The twelve male Board Directors smirked. Nothing was said; the quiet knowing of patriarchs hung in…
