I feel like writing about women, as if we are opposed
from any other vessel of human emotion or blood
and guts or sex. I am no fragile fuckin flower, but I fuck.
I outwork some men and I wear it on my teeth.
I learned the term from liberal arts school–I wear it
as a brand on my breast plate—that rigid bone
you have to break to save lives. I’ve had more men
cry on my shoulder, clutch me as they shudder—
than women confide in me.
I hold my shoulders straighter than I ever have,
eat my emotions to hold me over for dinner.
I don’t need to feed another
off these breasts. I’ll feed myself.
Honestly… this is inspired mostly from watching Girl Code and too much wine. I’ve only watched the show in the past couple days and seriously… that shit is hilarious. I could legitimately throw in my liberal arts education as well. I had one professor in particular—he was raised by his mother and grandmother and doesn’t believe in gender roles. He taught me so much. He wrote one of my recommendations for grad school so I love him eternally.