I used to be that happy little girl who danced trough the streets, smiled at everyone she met.
Now I am that depressed boy who locks himself up in his room, never comming out, because people might notice his *****.
Oh, the difference between this two.
But both are part of me and my past.
Who will I tomorrow be?

If you brush off what we say,
We will rip your ears off with our words-
Because our opinions matter.
We can be just as intelligent,
If not more so
Than you are.

But in your mind,
Because we have vaginas,
And you have a *****,
The people whom with you share
The same kind of genitals are oh so
Much more creative than us.

But we will nail it into your stubborn
Skull, the fact that women matter.
We can be intellectuals.
We can be in galleries.
We can do your ******* job-
If we even want to in the first place.
Our opinions are valid and relevant.
We do not deserve to be brushed off
As if we do not have minds of our own.

We refuse to go through torture
To ‘earn’ your respect.
Respect that we do not even need
To be able to succeed.

So I hid it
Took it like a written confession and
swallowed it
Decades of genders, females and
males screaming, as I melted down
the word on my tongue they had fought to keep,
that they had killed for and won.
As I joined a flock of sheep who wouldn't
accept a goat
Who didn't want to listen when I wrote down
that I believed in the allegedly frown-worthy
opinion that equality should exist.
That it should be taught right from the yolk
of existence.
That it's regulation requires persistence.

They told me that prejudice was a myth
Ironic, they also told me I shouldn't exist
Told me I was lesbian, like it was an
insult, when I decided to stage a revolt and
mark the popular girl in netball
and win.
self high five
Oh dear, what a schoolgirl sin to
perpetrate.
I was taught to take hate by the masses who
yelled that
the classes of acceptance
were unnecessary

Popular girl: small correction, although
I cannot say you personally give me
a feminine *******, I'm bisexual, get it right.
Also examine the fact that you thought I'd only fight
because I wanted you.
When in fact I both loathe and pity you, you
do not understand your worth, and you don't
give proper respect to the earth of your
elders.
Who have handed down shoulder to shoulder
something different from the everyday pain.
They've handed down the hope that their strivings
were not vain, and one day this war will
cease.

The smoke of a pen, not
a gun, calling
peace.

So, I am a feminist and I call for release.