Woman things happen to me and I speak of them and they call me a feminist.

Woman things happen to me and I don’t speak of them and they call me strong.

Some woman things:
bleeding,
learning to fear the night,
learning to hear the whispers,
writing in emotions.

Resistance is for feminists,
speaking is for feminists,
writing is for men’s education,
women’s edification.

To be identified is to be empowered, to self-identify is to debase, devalue, deflower.

I have been deflowered, little girl, I asked him to nip the bud of the flower.

Some girl things:
bleeding,
learning to fear the night,
learning to hear the whispers,
writing in emotions.

I am not a dirty feminist. I am not a clean woman, that is, a man

with the addition of two letters. Fuck, me-

n are more than the subtraction of two,
more than tools for staunching, more than fearless nights,

more than the roar of the whispers, the erasing of the voice
of emotions. I am not a cunt, bitch, douche container of womanhood waiting
to be expressed, raw sentiments waiting for a close shave, a hipster beard.
A loud quiet loud person once said it is brave to speak up, wise to sit down.

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