Sometimes by Hania AnwarSometimesI wish I was born aManin true Plath-ian fashionto roam the desolate fieldsat Dusky Dawnwithout the gripping fearof being stripped bare andTornIf I were a Man I wonderwould I fight half as much with my mother?Would she chastise me for not wordlessly helping around the house were I a Son and not adaughter?Would my father have turned away the childish outstretched handthat reached towards his noisy busy factorywere I a Son and not adaughter?If I were a Manwould I have worried about unborn childrenpart of un-lived futures and the thousand ways I would Fail them?The only reason Rhett could say he didn’t “Give a damn”was because he was a ManI was born with all the Damns in the world crammed into meUntil I began to Choke

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