If I had to choose between being
alone in a forest with a bear
or being alone in a forest
with a man, I would choose
the bear. See, you can reason
with a hungry bear; you cannot
reason with a hungry man.

I think of men much like I think of dogs

I'm initially weary of all the strange ones
I keep my distance and speak softly in case they might bite

After I meet them a few times and they're consistently friendly I'll let my guard down a little

Even then though they will still sometimes bite even if you think you know them

I've encountered enough biting dogs that I'm starting to fear dogs as a species

Which, as it turns out, dogs can sense and they don't like

I don't want to dislike dogs.
I've loved plenty of very good dogs in my life.

There are many dogs that I'm excited to see when they approach me
That I'll give treats and belly rubs to

But people that don't know me well think that I don't like dogs

When they see me interact with them on our first meeting they think I'm mean and crass

But in reality I'm just afraid and trying my best not to show it because they'll sense that fear in me

And chase me back to my truck
Or bite me
Or snarl and snap at the air to watch me dance for them

One mean biting dog will make you wary of dogs for a short time
But then you forget

It's only after many biting dogs
Many scary dogs
That it starts to wear on you
That you get nervous of all of them

But you tell someone their dog bites and they don't believe you

They say its never done that before
They ask you what you were doing when it bit you

They tell you that you should've have been in their yard
Like they didn't invite you there

So it's not that I don't like dogs
It's that dogs don't always like me

And they're one of the greatest dangers that I face on a daily basis

I'm a dog person
I'm also just an animal that runs on instinct

Call me hysterical all you want.

Some of the greatest artists were
[are] hysterical women.

when you are a woman
you bleed the burden of being one
literally within every month
and metaphorically every single day
you polish the plates clean
you cook the cake delectable
you plan the garden to grow plants
you figure out your figures
you beg to be believed
you serve to be esteemed
you scream to be heard
to be seen, to be listened,
to speak, to be free
you consume the rage given
passed and inherited
genetically and immanently
you are born
yet you give birth too
being a woman is a revolution

Look at me,
How slick and sleek.
A lipstick to wear
With blush on my cheek.

A corset tied tight
To cut my breath.
A queasy,
Uneasy
Feeling lingers through my chest.

You took my neck,
One hand down my vest.

But I look my best,
As you say to the rest.

I am worthy now,

I have passed your test.

When I uproot the hairs sprouting from the glabella
and strip my cupid’s bow of its wildflowers,
Frida Kahlo writhes in her grave.

She haunts me.

“You are beautiful.”
[unibrow and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[moustache and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[sadness and all]

Maybe he didn’t burn you
in the literal sense;
but gaslighting is its own
misogynistic brand of conflagration.

Men love a good Femme Fatale.

But they do not love an ugly Femme Fatale—

So they plucked her naked,
gave her a nose job, and called her
a “mermaid” instead

{Siren}