free

free
beloved
i am tired
worn thin from being
the object of your desires

build me up
let me be
the subject of your love

beloved
i am dizzy
sick from looking up
at your pedestal of false superiority

come down to me
let us love honestly
with the Spirit in equality

beloved
i am angry
driven mad with pain
from your foot on my back

remove it
let me stand on my own feet
and speak for myself

beloved
i am frightened
afraid of your self-righteous wrath
and towering temper

be kind
let go your expectations
set me free


Let it never be said I am a man-hater, to the contrary, I love men.  But the basic tenet of feminism runs deep on my blood, all human beings are equal and should be treated as such in all situations.  And I have found that too often even the best of men still live very confused lives.  They may speak as if they understand but still refuse to let go their privilege in the small, hidden areas of life.  There are a million sneaky little cultural expectations for roles and relationships.  They are hard to let go of.  It speaks volumes about the true feelings of a man if he will listen and learn when these are discussed or if he will stubbornly insist that “he’s not like that”  or “he didn’t mean it” at the slightest hint of another viewpoint.  Unfortunately many of these issues so permeate relationships and organizations, language, media and culture it is next to impossible to deal with them.

 

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
This entry was posted in abuse, creative writing, feminism, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to free

  1. Pingback: The Season of Non-Violence, Day 51 | stories of survival

  2. Pingback: 7-7-7 | the liminal life of m

  3. Pingback: Top 15 of 2015 | the liminal life of m

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