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...
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