This is for my student who wrote “rape won”;
for my daughter who thought sexism was dead;
for the girls who deal with boys being boys;
for the sluts we are for having a woman’s body.
Let our shrill voices rise and spread until they are heeded directives.
Let our bitchiness thrive until it is the norm that is no longer placated and silenced.
Don’t try to soothe us: we are beyond appeasement.
We don’t want your condescending advice dictated in superior tones.
We are not the vessels of your perverted visions;
Not of you
We are of ourselves and the people who respect
We are the pinpricks of conscience you feel, but don’t acknowledge.
You don’t know this, but
we mock you and your need to control and limit—
for we rise and thrive past your oppression,
but you, you are tied to it—constricted by the emptiness of your own binds.
Each of us is
a fountain that cannot be contained;
a decision that banishes naysayers;
an emotion that unites;
propelling us forward—past the misogynists
and into the respectful reality we envision for ourselves
and each other.
Ours is a vision that cannot be crushed: