Woman,

Your heredity is indisputable.

Like mother, like daughter:

You have your mother’s looks,

And talent.

And your absent father’s

Something.

Precious little tottie Lottie,

Taken into warm arms

At the age of 14,

Called Harlot for short

At the age of 16,

24 times a day.

Your anonymous hold-ups

Gave you active support,

Those countless pairs of

Wide fence-net soirees

Seductive sweet roses

Bridal romantic lustre

Sensuous scarlet fantasy

Chic sexy backseam allure

With multi-lace top stay-ups

And your fatal run-resist lot.

Your Santa men have stuffed

Your seidenglatt Christmas stockings

With the fishnets of your thigh-high name

And candied peels of your seamless mind.

Your sheer name has run.

Oh charlie

Now that you have come of age

The hereditary base of your name

Gets in the way of

Calling yourself a free woman

The visibly sweating men who have taken

The inside of your name

Will not take you

As Charlotte.

At the age of 20

You say you’re going to quit

And find a steady job.

The stocking masks say,

Who on earth is going to take you

Seriously.

Seriously.

So damn easy to slip into a woman,

So difficult to bear her name.

Jupiter! Silvana Orel Kos