Overthunk

You polished it, the wit, to wit You slid it again and again along every sharpening stone (criticism, disdain, judgement, unkind remarks) Virtually anything that could penetrate the marshmallow heart and poison the hot blood Could serve to make the born-blunt edge thinner, the better to slice you with You sat at the feet of the greats The funny arrows of truth, deftly nocked and swiftly released, reloaded Memorizing the melodies of cleverness, a template for First rehearsed replies, afterthoughts forged by repetition into a more and more accurate weapon, Then hardened into a versatile, agile original design, slashing deep at a moment's notice Always believing this was a method for seizing power, a coup against the lack of various stripes of privilege. And sometimes it is. A needed defense. Not often, but still too much, it's an unattended razor, wounding wantonly Cutting the unwitting, family, friends, slicing and dicing ones you love, leaving you with bleedin...

I was reading this morning in a newly arrived issue of Glamour , which I never ordered but which replaced the dear departed Domino , where Wendy Williams (a member of the growing number of People Who I Don't Know Who They Are, as opposed to Wendy O. Williams , who I do know who was) advises us to, "Believe in the sisterhood," i.e. not all other women want your man, job, etc. I very much enjoy being a girl, do not mistake me, but I've never been a joiner or a sorority member. Nor do I believe that all other women want what I have. I'm capable of being catty and snarky, but not so much that I have to urge myself to stop doing so and subscribe to some credo of togetherness. So the only slogan I can offer is this: The sisterhood: blood and holes unite us. ---------------- "I got all my sisters and me." -- Sister Sledge (but ironically composed by TWO DUDES, Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers!!)