And who said I want to be betrothed
want a diamond or an inexpensive ring,
a white dress that attests to my sexual status,
but definitely not his.

Who said I want to part with my name,
become a satellite in his orbit,
annihilate what my ancestors bequeathed
with a single drop of ink.

Who said I want a honeymoon,
a temporary phase of bliss
before the tribulations of marriage
begin to bombard my head
until I drop dead.