I, Feminist

The screen in front of me

 Screeches brightly

As the world watches

And my father glares

And I vow to sharpen my edges

And file my nails,

Honing my voice to match theirs,

The deafening noise of the fettering

Black box in my living room

Chains and strikes,

Strikes and chains,

Watered-down Absinthe

On the window-sill

While Frida paints.

 

The cyborg on my desk

Flirts with my mind,

I flirt back,

On the attack,

Virginia would have

And I am Virginia,

Back from the dead,

So face my words

And crack your rape joke,

“Women can’t drive”

“Women shouldn’t provoke”

Sit back while I nudge

Your bones with this muscle

Truck,

Pussy truck,

Pussy as strength,

Pussy as glory,

I am not ashamed, I am not sorry

For the curve of my hips

And the crack on my lips,

So cast your stones

And reload your righteousness

As the girl on the screen cries and moans

And Sylvia lies on the kitchen floor,

I refuse to be a bore,

Trendy skirts and friend-zoned smiles,

Misogyny’s in style,

So set me on fire and roll your eyes

And watch me rise from the pile,

A wolf is cuddled with my soul, hear it howl

As I go,

I would rather let it out

Than soften my bones for your show.

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