**Jenine**
It doesn´t matter where I am and when I am.
Varying degrees of imprisonment are just lines in the sand. It did not change a thing to Emily Davison when she was jailed. She knew that all women lived in prison whether they saw it or not.
I would expect nothing less from the rabble when I wake up and they seat me on that motorized chair that sends stinging to my bare ass every once in a while. It´s also totally their style when they painfully bend my back to lock my head and hands in the pillory on the plinth and a little peg on the string to pull my tongue.
Male wardens are the most dutiful with the last beautification – twisting and cuffing my legs on the chair so that womanhood between is properly unfurled.
There´s the reason why my cell has no open door during the day. I can be a spectacle, albeit a passive one, untouched in a violating way. My speech being disabled, I couldn´t react to the repetitive derision and bawdy accolades. I wandered in myself, the pains trivial to the steadfast wildcat. The catering is nothing short of groundbreaking. Every Hilton should offer a tube to the nose.