Granted, guys,
I have a vulva and tits, and
I like to comfort-break, but I am,
pretty much, and you know I'm worth it,
as much a man
as any of you.
I shave my legs, okay, and
sometimes I wax,
but don't you, and, anyway …
I don't whimper,
nor can you say that I simper.
And now, when I smile,
when I talk of my Beamer
or some friend's one-night splay,
I can let the lines between my lips
and my cheeks display.
Mine is not the smirk of ‘come and get it
if you dare’, the glint
of secrets, of fore-slash-power play.
Give me my due.
I just use it and you, for me.
Wouldn't you?
Liking and anguish are just debility.
These are not the meat of an amazon,
an amazon executrix.
I am now as angry and as hurt as you,
as unengaged,
as conventional,
as unconventional.
Cool, I say . So what?, I say.
Okay, so, in the sisterhood, we network better,
but otherwise
we are as one. We are as fair, as unfair.
Boo hoo. Long live the day.
