Am I still a feminist
If I love when a man rips off my clothes
And squeezes my breasts
And says “oh god”
Like my body is
The answer?
Have I internalised the patriarchy
Have I self-objectified
Or do I just simply want to please
And is that so bad?
Sometimes I think I’d like to grow
Until I’m 10 stories tall
And voluptuous like a woman in a Renaissance painting
I’d open my naked arms in a public square
Inviting everybody to come feed on my flesh
Because food is my love language
& maybe I’m a little bit in love
With everyone
Like Walt Whitman
But somehow hornier
I can’t tell if this is too much
If maybe I shouldn’t want to sacrifice my body
In a celebratory summer feast
Less like a stale cracker
As a symbol
And more like an actual fucking BBQ
Or if this is what it feels like
To relinquish the fear of offering too much of oneself
Of worrying about fair payment
Or other capitalist things
This system that tells us, essentially
That giving is a loss
To your “capital”
When I mean
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!
LOOK INTO YOUR HEART
AND TELL ME YOU AREN’T A FEEDER
TELL ME YOU WOULDN’T FIND ULTIMATE JOY
IN FREELY GIVING
AND NOURISHING THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU
WITH YOUR MASSIVE FUCKING
DELICIOUS BODY!!!
Featured photo supplied.
