Double Standard

A scale, tilted, always. One side, feather-light, whispers of grace, the other, leaden, groans with consequence. A woman's voice, raised, hysterical, they say, a storm in a teacup. A man's, booming, resonant, commanding, the voice of reason. Her dress, too short, too tight, a provocation, a silent scream. His gaze, lingering, possessive, a natural instinct, they claim. Her ambition, sharp, cutting, a threat to the fragile balance. His drive, relentless, admirable, the path to rightful power. Her tears, weakness, a flood of melodrama. His, a rare and solemn release, a testament to his burdened soul. Her history, a scarlet letter, etched in unforgiving ink. His, a tapestry of rugged lessons, woven into the fabric of his strength. The scale, it tips, it sways, a constant, cruel arithmetic. And we, the silent accountants, tally the uneven sum. ©bfa032725