Where’s the Agta people?

my short skirt

is not an invitation

a provocation

an indication

that I want it

or give it

or that I hook.

my short skirt

is not begging for it

it does not want you

to rip it off me

or pull it down.

my short skirt

is not a legal reason

for raping me

although it has been before

it will not hold up

in the new court.

my short skirt, believe it or not

has nothing to do with you.

my short skirt

is about discovering

the power of my lower calves

about cool autumn air traveling

up my inner thighs

about allowing everything I see

or pass or feel to live inside.

my short skirt is not proof

that I am stupid

or undecided

or a malleable little girl.

my short skirt is my defiance

i will not let you make me afraid

my short skirt is not showing off

this is who I am

before you made me cover it

or tone it down.

get used to it.

my short skirt is happiness

i can feel myself on the ground.

i am here. i am hot.

my short skirt is a liberation

flag in the women’s army

i declare these streets, any streets

my vagina’s country.

my short skirt

is turquoise water

with swimming colored fish

a summer festival

in the starry dark

a bird calling

a train arriving in a foreign town.

my short skirt is a wild spin

a full breath

a tango dip.

my short skirt is

initiation.

appreciation.

excitation.

but mainly my short skirt

and everything under it

is Mine.

Mine.

Mine.