Pennywise gender foolish
i don’t trust the man in me
i don’t trust him
can’t leave him unattended
can’t look the other way
while he pees all over
he can’t keep his dick straight while peeing
he’s messy, dirty
believes that the world was built for him
that there is a structure
and women are attached to it
I don’t trust the man in me
he has an ego to support him
and the ego always wins
always
I don’t trust the man in me
he doesn’t let go
he talks about safety for women
and then he pulls women by their hair and asks them to submit
he tracks them wherever they are
draws figurines around their bodies
accentuates their boobs and pussies and asses
blows their body hot with his glowing eyes
diminishes them
I am not the skin I was born with
but they are the body and skin and boobs and pussies they are born with
that’s all they are to him
nothing more nothing less
big boob small boob big ass tiny ass
I hate the man in me
he takes humanity far away from me
he’s trained to break people into pieces
and nourish on body meat
and when that’s not enough
he has virtual chains to bind their soul
he has virtual boundaries that women shouldn’t cross
otherwise, the world will come to an end
who’s world?
I hate the man in me
he passes on his fears to me
he wants the women in chains
and he convinces me as well
he wants women to mend
to the rules that his ancestral buddies built
I hate the man in me
when I see a woman not able
to work
to walk
to think
to dress as she wants
to be as she wants
when she’s stared at
and judged for who she is
when she’s reminded
of herself
her body
her soul trying to escape the chains
I hate the man in me
when
my body titillates at the scars such chains produce on her skins
to find him happy
when a will is mended and bended
I hate the man in me
when everything is a reason
for a woman to be managed
like a process
like an animal
carefully orchestrated social circus
I hate the man in me
when overall good is sold like hotcakes
when moral infrastructure is built on women's backs
when women exist for men
when this poem exists for her eyes
and ears
and mind
and skin
and breath
and life
I hate the man in me
when I think
all reasons why
a woman should stay in the jail
that we all are proud of building
and we feel offended
that she’s not happy
that she’s depressed
that she’s frustrated
to be living this life with us
how thankless of her
when she doesn’t know her place
when she rebels
and wants to break this blood wall
made out of the sweat and bodies of a billion women
I hate the man in me
when my eyes and ears and facial muscles
decide
what a woman should feel like
how her body should move
how she should pace herself
every moment in life
like she’s in one giant Bharatnatyam performance
all eyes on her
all the time
I hate the man in me
so, I ate the man in me
but…
he’s not digesting
he’s swirling around my big belly
being the asshole he is
he doesn’t want to come out
i am trying to push him out hard
delivering the devil through the anus
it feels like
I travel with a woman
and all the time
she’s experiencing the world like a cage
she’s experiencing it as a bonded laborer
and she has to deal with the
nuances of being a bonded woman
wherever she goes
like state and country borders
she crosses moral borders every day
some places stamp her woman passport with visa approval
some places, they stamp her as invalid
some places she’s welcome
many places she’s not
when she goes out
pees
eats
drinks
talks
laughs
smiles
looks
there’s a moral grammar
she needs to fit into
and when she slips
when she makes mistakes
there is a tight slap
every single time
from a 9-year-old boy
or an 88-year-old man
I hate the man in me
when i expect her to enjoy
her life
despite all this
why shouldn’t she
asks he
I hate the man in me
Just for being born as a man
