why is it that whenever we–
women–
show the slightest sign of anger or strength
we are presented with one of two masks:
the *****, or better yet,
the Joke.

why can’t we demand anything
without being called fickle or foolish
while a man can do the same and be called
Boss?

why can’t we choose to look like the calla
and not be chastised for pettiness,
for wanting to feel pretty?
after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media,
we’re labeled with a laugh
or the scales of a serpent when we want
to to bite back.

you chuckle when i bare my teeth,
you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry.
I dare you to tell me why.

i am not a *****
i am far from a Joke.
i have skin and bones
hands to work with
eyes to see and most importantly
i have guts.
*i am human.