I’m a man,
and so I can.
I can walk alone at night,
for only cowards get a fright.
I can post my real last name.
This life for me is just a game.
I can look them in the eye
(as long as I don’t start to cry).
I can curse and yell and shout.
That is what I’m all about.
Assertive is the way to be.
I'm the boss. Now can't you see?
I can dress how I would like.
I can ride a reg’lar bike.
I can bend or squat or sit
with legs spread wide. I am the ****.
My gender, I don’t qualify.
Default is he, and so am I.
And when I spit, I draw no looks.
My undergarments have no hooks.
My hair just sits as it was made,
Distinguished as it starts to fade.
I can slap my gut with pride.
She said me too, but that ***** lied.
My pain is real; my anger, too.
And I don't have to use the loo.
Dear daughter, won’t you try to be
a big strong man as safe as me?
For my amazing daughter, may she always be safe and respected.
I was going for a Shel-Silverstein-meets-Ani-DiFranco kinda thing.
(For those unfamiliar with American slang, “I am the ****” translates “I am so great.”)