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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 the air, clogging my pores.
Still, I continued serving eighteen-hour days. Gritting teeth through degradations, humiliations, and the thousand cuts crisscrossing my soul, I thought I could rationalise the cost = of the acquisition of knowledge, experience and networks multiplied by the immediate need for rent money.
Breath stinking of red wine, a bone-crushing grip on my forearm, a living nightmare.
No R U OK, nor sister solidarity. Instead, I earned thick skin, acquiring the patriarchal survival kit. The odds were never in my favour.
Nestled within each day’s verbal abuse were the tiny kernels of insight I gobbled up: how to think, plan, influence, mould and shape data, people, and circumstances. My Frank Underwood, my chance for the keys to the kingdom at the bargain basement cost of my dignity.
