My short skirt
It took me forever to find this and then I had to type it off of a video, so maybe now anyone else out there in cyberland look for it can find it.
The following is my favorite piece from Vagina Monologues
My short skirt is not an invitation, a provocation, an indication that I want it, I 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 and though it has 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 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 how I am before you made me cover it up and 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 this street, any street 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, and a tango dip.
My short skirt is initiation, appreciation, excitation.
But mainly, but mainly my short skirt and everything that’s under it is mine, Mine, MINE.
The following is my favorite piece from Vagina Monologues
My short skirt is not an invitation, a provocation, an indication that I want it, I 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 and though it has 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 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 how I am before you made me cover it up and 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 this street, any street 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, and a tango dip.
My short skirt is initiation, appreciation, excitation.
But mainly, but mainly my short skirt and everything that’s under it is mine, Mine, MINE.