Rowan
05-19-2014, 12:31 PM
I am a feminist
*****.
And because twerking would still be as odd with any other a name, let me make sure we mean the same and let you not mistake me for a fool who breaks that rule about calculating the differences between people, instead of the regularities of our similarities
I am a feminist, who when asked why, will tell you that boys are never allowed to cry. That our tears are allowed to fester until they pester wives and daughters, who will then pester lawyers because in court
Child support won’t come at the end of a whiskey-stained-fist of the man you once kissed. That man that had mother that told him,
stop that crying
And that man that was sent to the principal’s office at the age of Mommy-please-help-me ,
by the high school’s nurse for that curse in his bodice.
A tear rammed so far up his tear duct it abducted any chance of him expressing sadness with anything but CNN-rape-victim-madness
Breaking news tonight
of a breaking soul that might have been alright had that man not held on so tight to a set of etiquette that really is just a self-portrait of Genghis Khan. A muscular piece of meat with a beard neat, and abs sweet, whose answers to multiple choice questions are always aggressions
Is this going to be in the exam, ma’am? This SLAM with my right, and WHAM with my left? Until no more tears are left?
That man that had friends, brothers in arms, that told him to care less about the feels, and more about the baseball-player-ideals, like, take out that tampon and follow the religion whose heaven and hell are decided by your hard-on.
And for all the things we can do, like grow facial hair and go to the bathroom where we urinate standing, commanding the flow of our pee until doesn’t disagree with the unquestionable authority of The Penis. A sceptre given from God to Man like God handing out the right to be king to people that wanted that kind of thing
Unlike, Genghis Khan, there are many things we Genghis-Can’t, like, cry. And, as much as life is a game, too often Tic-tac-Toe is rhymed with Tic-Tac-No,
So as much as I implore your crusade to abhor beauty standards in women, I ask for you to adore the idea to force parents to pack another oar. Peddle through the river of the tears that never get delivered because of a terminal case of Man that can’t.
Any feedback or comments are appreciated! =)
*****.
And because twerking would still be as odd with any other a name, let me make sure we mean the same and let you not mistake me for a fool who breaks that rule about calculating the differences between people, instead of the regularities of our similarities
I am a feminist, who when asked why, will tell you that boys are never allowed to cry. That our tears are allowed to fester until they pester wives and daughters, who will then pester lawyers because in court
Child support won’t come at the end of a whiskey-stained-fist of the man you once kissed. That man that had mother that told him,
stop that crying
And that man that was sent to the principal’s office at the age of Mommy-please-help-me ,
by the high school’s nurse for that curse in his bodice.
A tear rammed so far up his tear duct it abducted any chance of him expressing sadness with anything but CNN-rape-victim-madness
Breaking news tonight
of a breaking soul that might have been alright had that man not held on so tight to a set of etiquette that really is just a self-portrait of Genghis Khan. A muscular piece of meat with a beard neat, and abs sweet, whose answers to multiple choice questions are always aggressions
Is this going to be in the exam, ma’am? This SLAM with my right, and WHAM with my left? Until no more tears are left?
That man that had friends, brothers in arms, that told him to care less about the feels, and more about the baseball-player-ideals, like, take out that tampon and follow the religion whose heaven and hell are decided by your hard-on.
And for all the things we can do, like grow facial hair and go to the bathroom where we urinate standing, commanding the flow of our pee until doesn’t disagree with the unquestionable authority of The Penis. A sceptre given from God to Man like God handing out the right to be king to people that wanted that kind of thing
Unlike, Genghis Khan, there are many things we Genghis-Can’t, like, cry. And, as much as life is a game, too often Tic-tac-Toe is rhymed with Tic-Tac-No,
So as much as I implore your crusade to abhor beauty standards in women, I ask for you to adore the idea to force parents to pack another oar. Peddle through the river of the tears that never get delivered because of a terminal case of Man that can’t.
Any feedback or comments are appreciated! =)