I told you something new was in process. Here’s a nice angry feminist poem for you. 🙂
As A Woman
It’s possible that, as a woman, I’ve failed
but, as a person? The jury is still out.
And, I’m sorry if you don’t want to accept that things keep growing until they die,
but I didn’t write the rules,
and I don’t have to live by them.
I am like a snake shedding skin—
Naming the scales that fall away
Princess, Sweetheart, and Honey.
You can whistle while I strip
away the layers of shame I was born to carry.
For once, you would be applauding for the right reasons.
The things that, as a woman, I can’t – shouldn’t – shouldn’t want to- do-think-feel
have been stacked so high,
And I have wasted so much time beating against the wall of them
that my knuckles are bloody,
my lungs aflame,
my vision blurry,
and all I have to show for the labors of my ancestors,
and my screams of silent protest,
is the right to work until I die
at jobs I didn’t want,
for less than I deserve
…while wearing pants.
And, I am sorry if that’s hard to hear,
because I want to want the things you want me to want:
I just don’t.
And, I’m sorry if that’s inconvenient,
I’m not actually sorry at all.
Because I was not told as a child that I could be anything I wanted.
I was told that I could be anything I wanted, with a healthy dose of subtext,
I was taught to be sensible.
To keep my head down.
Apparently, Indiana Jones is not a job that little girls can do.
After all, when would I wash my hair?
What if I broke a nail?
And, if you are waiting for me to find my place,
I have found it.
And if you are waiting for me to ask your approval,
Then maybe, next time you decide who I ought to be,
I’ll get to cast a vote.
I’ll get to write the rules,
And you’ll realize – much to the shock and awe of spectators-
That my tits, in fact, do NOT get in the way.
And, I’m sorry that I’m angry.
And, I’m sorry that I’m not angry enough.
And , I’m sorry that I didn’t ask permission.
And, I’m sorry that someone,
Somewhere in the world,
Thinks that, as a woman, I should have.