As a young and gorgeously-oppressed feminist writer, I find that poetry is the ideal medium in which to capture the pain which accrues to all wimmyn who struggle against our endlessly Patriarchal society. I hope that my soulful, mournful, bittersweet pussy-based balladry will give you the kind of strength that can only come with the solidarity of systyrhood. And although I’d be absolutely outraged if some man were to make any graphic remarks about my sexual organs, I’m perfectly happy to think that writing detailed sonnets about my reproductive anatomy will make the world a better place to live in somehow.
That’s why I’d like to present a short a masterwork of cliterary protest which I penned just this morning. I think you’ll enjoy it, as if my existential angst is a noteworthy and interesting thing:
This Labia Comes With Two Fists!
Better watch your ass,
And watch it good.
This labia of mine can wallop your face right-in
Because it comes with two fists attached.
I live in constant fear constantly
That oppressive Phallocrats might maul me with their fearsome, throbbing gonad.
I see what Patriarchy cooks-up in its microwave–
A steaming bowl of rape-soup!
Even now, you keep me in line behind the cosmetic counter
With your unattainable beauty standards.
Tho you fancy yourself the guardian of my beauty value
I reject fancy lip-glosses in all their forms!
I have discovered in my own body a great and free land
Far beyond what any native-enslaving man can conquer.
And does my unregulated mouth shock and offend?
I sure hope it does. You bastard.
These two fists can pummel.
Pummel knuckledraggers who objectify and objectivize and objectificate.
I sense fear in you, Patriarchy.
Cuz this labia comes with two fists!