POEM | Who-Man

I’m I a woman, or who-man?
I need to know
I’m I a she-male, or a she trapped in a he?
It’s hard being woman
Naturally belonging to a man
Trapped by the limitations of people’s imaginations
Victim of their demands and expectations.


I stand trial as damaged goods
Sexual liberation is my undoing:
Loose woman—I am called
They can’t handle a woman on the loose
It’s women like me who’ll take over the world.

And while we’re still on the subject of the rise of the woman
Feminists are not going anywhere—
and no, I am not a feminist
There are a hundred ways to slip through the cracks of maledom
Mary Magdalene was the thirteenth disciple
Jesus loved her in the flesh.

The bone of contention is not whether
I identify with social expectations
Or I’m trapped in the limitations of your imaginations
I never wanted to be different
But to be everything you fear:
Threat to your ego
Death of your machismo
Black widow
Your worst nightmare.

Impossible it seems
Through the night I fuck your mind off
In the morning I am all I ever wanted to be
Dreams and laughter
My life always a new chapter
For yesterday that’s what I was
Today is gone
And tomorrow never comes.


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