Let me set the scene
The sun is shining
Time to fill my day with play
The illuminated field of grass calls to me
Like my soft blankets after a hard weeks work.
Should I take off my shirt?
I don’t want tan lines.
Tan lines?
Tan lines.
What are those?
You know,
When your skin has a line where
“Darker tan skin meets lighter tan skin”
Tan?
Tan.
What is tan.
You know,
You know a darker flesh tone.
Flesh tone?! Oh no,
Here we go.
What is flesh tone?
Flesh?
Tone?
Flesh, our skin.
It comes in all different shades of pinks, oranges, and red.
No there’s different shades of black and white.
No one is white, truly.
You know what I mean!
No! I don’t, I really don’t.
I mean,
There are people who exist with the complexion of fresh fallen snow.
Oh no,
Here we go.
Snow is made of ice which is made of water.
Last time I checked water is blue.
We were talking about you!
Well now we are onto something more important!
You seriously think water is blue?
It’s an optical illusion!
Can’t you see?
You fool.
And your stupid tan lines.
If they bother you so much take your shirt off!
Don’t be more than one shade! You have to make sense!
You have to blend in!
You have to be perfect!
Woah. Wait a minute.
Weren’t we having a nice time in the sun?
Well brain,
I was trying to.
But now I feel like I’m in sin.

"Get home before it's too dark.
You cannot wear clothes like that in a public park!
When you're out, stick close to your friends.
And please for god's sake cover yourself!
Don't make eye contact with strangers.
Steer away from all those men, they are nothing but danger."
You taught me all this since I was a kid.
You taught me fear and corrected me in every single thing I did.
"It isn't his fault" you said "boys will be boys."
You silenced me all my life and not once did you let me raise my voice.
Why didn't you teach him to look at me in the right way?
Whatever wrong he did no one cared, he was forgiven straight away.
You always taught me he was a predator,
When you should have taught him that I am not prey.

I was told I was fat.
Shamed for my body, called names and all that.
I learnt to hate myself by them at that time.
They made me feel like being a little curvy was a crime.
So I started working on getting thinner, not for health or fitness though.
But because I thought that way I would be loved and accepted more.
I finally did become slimmer and i was happy.
I slowly started to regain the confidence that they had mercilessly stolen from me.
And just as it started getting a tad bit better, I was shamed for being short.
Couldn't they just let me live my life in peace or what?!
They crushed the little confidence i had gotten back.
Again in their stupid circle of high expectations and "physical beauty is true beauty" I was trapped.
I worked on getting taller everyday.
Crying myself to sleep when nothing worked at the end of the day.
And so they taught me time and time again to hate my body.
And I know I did, I am so sorry.
They said my acne was ugly and it needed to be hidden.
Going anywhere without makeup or not dressing girly enough was forbidden.
"No do not sit like that, talk like this, wear this not that, always smile."
They said these horrible things and silly me, I actually listened for a while.
But one day I decided I did not care.
So what if I didn't have what they called the "perfect figure" or the nicest hair?
I loved myself and that was it.
I was beautiful whether or not they believed it.
It was not an easy fight.
But I think I did alright.
They still say things all the time.
But I've grown to listen to just one voice, mine.

They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.

They have pressurized girls into feeling beautiful always.
"Chin up, makeup on, be poised and smile your best even on the bad days."
In a world where being pretty is all there is.
Dare to be different, dare to take that risk.
Be more than merely beautiful.
Be kind, be compassionate, be helpful, and respectful.
Be sensitive, be brave, be shy, be tough.
Don't think that just being beautiful is enough.
Be a rebel, be a fighter, break all the rules, don't give a ****.
Be manly, be girly, be all you can.
Be the ******* fire, be passionate, be a dreamer.
Be weird, go crazy, choose love, be a lover.
Be the fierce hurricane if you want to.
A gentle, slow and soft drizzle works too.
Don't feel restrained or constricted ever.
Go wild, live your life like you've never.
I hope you see that there are things beyond beautiful too.
And one of them darling, is you.

She is reminded she isn't good enough everyday.
"You can't do by yourself, you need a man," they say.
No one tells her she is beautiful just the way she is.
No one tells her that she belongs to herself, she is not 'his'.
She is taught to hate her body by them.
She is told how unworthy she is by them.
No one tells her about the fierce fire burning in her heart.
That she too could be someone's glowing light in the dark.
No, she is only told how she needs to change.
She is overlooked and underappreciated at every stage.
So she just writes her story down.
As a reminder of who she was before she let her real self drown.

If she wore a short skirt or dress then she was doing it to get attention from the boys.
If she wore pants,shirts or had short hair she looked just like the guys.
If she hung out with girls only and no boys then she was "too reserved like what the hell?!"
If she hung out with boys alone then she was "doing it" with all men.
If she liked to play sports she was laughed upon and told to go work in the kitchen.
If she wasn't athletic then she was a 'typical girl, too feminine'.
If she was incredibly successful and a total boss,
she had apparently slept her way to the top.
If she was strong then she was called unemotional "like do you not have feelings?!"
If she was sensitive then that was just the "menstrual mood swings."
If her clothes were revealing then she was just "asking for it."
If she was all covered up then "girl loosen up a little bit."
Like in this society there was no way she could win, she was always wrong.
She was either very shy and quiet or just too loud.
She was either just another girl or helpless and worthless,
Or some kind of *** object.
Good thing she was stronger than all of them.
Good thing she rose up despite the crap they said.
Good thing she was made of fire.
Good thing nothing they said touched her for she was a fighter.

Boys will be boys, will be men, will destroy
Will take and take what you create
Will shame you if you deviate
Will make the rules they proceed to break
And after every encounter, you're a little more shaken
A little more autonomy from you has been taken

You rack your brain to find the words to demonstrate just how it hurts
Time passes - and the moment is gone
They were staring at your ***, and you know it was wrong
You know you don't belong
You are an object for observation
But that's a whole different song

So does it make it any better when you play along?
Are you simply playing victim in a manmade system?
A child of the Fight, how do you extract from that mode?
In a world full of players, you let yourself be taken
How is it that you manage to let the simple words break in?
The glass ceiling is surprisingly sharp
And the burden on your back gets heavier as you approach
The child in the closet didn't make it this far

There's a fine line between honoring your wounds and hiding in the dark
This is the line I walk every day
On one side, victim and healer, I tend to my wounds
The other lives in reality and makes the right moves
But duality is a falsity
Of course one can't be two
And the structure I see in the world I perceive brings out the fight
**** the patriarchy
**** the Right
They're not right
Their vision is just limited

There are so many issues I wish to address
If I cry through the fight, does that make it worth any less?
Does my brokenness somehow discount the rest?
The weight of my burdens change by the day
And yes, victimhood is the easiest way
May I be the last to place blame
This glass house holds no shame
And if you won't throw the stones at the broken and stuck
Pass them around and throw them straight up
Let's all make the ceiling shatter and fall
And watch now as the shards rain down
And this can happen when we're all ready to be active
And act as protagonists in our own play
So **** the patriarchy, but do it in your own time, and in your own way

12/15/2017

Maybe a woman. Definitely not a lady.
Always fluid, everchanging
Transient, human, waxing and waning
Dust to dust, the earth is waiting

Skin deviously separating
Lips and eyes and breath recreating the truth
Impermanence, interrelationships between the two of you
Between the hundreds of thousands of beings surrounding and breathing with you
Being with you
Being me
Being this inexorable mix of light and twisted, my fight is rising, round 2 has been gifted
Moving, shifting, intermixed
Lifting my voice to try to fix the never-ending brokenness
The *******, hoes, the tokenness

My ecosystem intertwined
Roots supporting, climbing vines, climbing high
Rise and rise, the end is nigh, lest we fight this beast beside
These children fighting over limbs
Ripping flesh and slicing skin
Removing organs from the breathing earth within

Ive spoken this truth before
But from a shattered soul
I speak now from a podium
Breathing deep and whole

I saw a heart with a scar
The scar was white
I saw a heart stop
The heat from the lights slicked the gloves to my skin
I saw an old man reconfigure a body
While making jokes about women’s bodies
The knowing glances passed between women behind backs, over masks
These old farts think they have this world under wrap
This dinosaur may come to find
His time is up
His time is past
I am the meteor 
Lighting up the summer night
You may depart with a bang or a whimper
The boys club is gone
Cigars are out of fashion
There’s only so far your generation’s hearts can last and when at last with scars, they stop
Then I joke in the OR about silly men, while I fix your broken heart