Wed, 05/14/2014 - 19:11 -- emapava

Do you see that girl? The angelic face

They made her hide, rather than embrace

Shield her hair which angels would covet                                          

 And for, fall from grace.


Picture her hand, behind the lace

Whose masterful touch can mark a life, not leave a trace.

Rip off the glove that masks these fingertips

Have her show when she cannot use her lips.


She is your daughter your mother, your sister and friend

Your lover, your goddess, your all, in the end.


Women, that is, where we begin

And there does lie the original sin.

To throw like a girl, and whine like a bitch

When you know by all true your lives you’d dare not switch


That girl you see, and who sees you

Whose life you share, when one are two

You say these things and look away.

Ashamed or not to her mind you sway.


And that of her, the girl upstairs

Who sleeps and dreams of worlds away

But one day wakens to find despair

And you find these words have made her well aware

Aware of what she is and is not to be

Of what daddy does think and what the world likes to see




These words are a poison, they seep into the walls

Of our homes, institutions and sacred halls.


That have our girls grow frightened and confused,

That leave it clear that their bodies are purposed to amuse

 And that day is lit a fuse.


That day she looks to you, with glistening eyes and asks why?

Why must I live as I should die?


Why are my breasts not for comfort and milk? Why are they seen as perversion and filth?

Why do I lack the right to bear arms?

When I know that my body, no one harms.


But harm unto her does befall,

Dare she walk alone, or go out at all

Dare she wear a short skirt? Or be well endowed.

Or heaven forbid, take up space in a crowd.


Or are these words too not allowed?

Well, forgive my tongue

 But my conscience grows loud:



An ecdysiast, that which sheds its skin. (A stripper in vulgar parts)

 A woman still within, a man if I choose to be.

So that a mere fabric, could not define me.

But I define it, and what it means draped on my shoulders or sheets


A racism, against my appearance.

You judge me because of the skins I choose and the gender I use or lose

Because I always lose.


May my body upset you,

My thoughts enrage you,

My actions, words and expressions defy you

For I am a woman, phenomenally!

And my secret lies in the truth that so many are deaf to.


That my dress is not a yes

And my body is not to blame

For this anger, frustration and pain


A slut you shame, but now in vain,

For I can see, it isn’t me, you slander

But you, and we and her.


My brother and sister I beckon thee,

To open thine hearts and perhaps see the beauty that we,



Create a world in which we all may thrive and,

Embrace what is divine:

 Our nature. Our essence. Our love.

Let me be.





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