This one goes out to all my “Angry Bitches,”
to all the women and girls
who learned at young ages
to swallow their anger
to express it in tears
to pretend it was okay
to rage in whispers at mirrors or
into pink pillow cases
to scream only when alone in the car
on deserted roads
to school faces
not to show
their frustration
their annoyance
their anger
their ire
their boiling fucking rage
by even so much as a single raised eyebrow
a rolled eye
a twitch of the lip
not to allow a single crack
in the smooth
ladylike
facade
of tranquility that might
in any way
make someone else
uncomfortable
This one goes out to all those
who take their lumps
who gulp them down
and gulp again
and again
and again
until those lumps sit
tight
heavy
and painful
until they become
the pits of their stomachs
untouched by the acids
fertilized by the bile
heaped on their existence
their sameness
their difference
their pain
their anguish
their voices
their audacity
when they dare to speak
in less than palatable words
in less than pleasant tones
in more than the agreed upon phrases
about more than the approved subjects
allowed to their feminine minds
This one goes out to all those ladies
who got tired of the word
who outgrew the confines of that box
who flexed
and stretched
and pushed
and strained
until the box collapsed around them
who stepped away from the wreckage
and out of the room
only to realize the next room
was just a bigger box
where angry still tightened the walls
where they could still be
interrupted
talked over
shushed
silenced
belittled
battered
bruised
beaten back into silence
by the voices that refuse to hear
what’s being described
and use the word
“angry”
as a gag to stifle the sound
as an excuse
to ignore the words
who use their anger
to dismiss all the valid fucking reasons
they were angry in the first place
or to blame them
for the things they’ve endured
as if their anger…
at being ignored
held back
pushed down
condescended to
talked past
abused
gaslighted
leaned on
bullied
intimidated
made to feel afraid in the streets of their own cities
the classrooms of their own schools
the halls of their own houses
made to feel their good ideas
were bossiness
their assertive leadership
bitchiness
their focus on family
unprofessional
their focus on career
cold and calculating
their tears
manipulative
their joys
worthless
their fears
baseless
their goals
laughable
…as if their anger
retroactively
justifies every fucked up thing
the world has done TO them
as if the emotional response
created the thing
they were responding to
This one goes out to you
my Angry Fucking Bitches
It goes out to us
and I say
since when do men
have a monopoly on anger?
since when are slights against them
so much more offensive
than slights against us?
Since when do they get to tell us
where the line is
that when crossed
means we are
“too angry”
And I hear the whisper
the angry sibilance
coming back to me
Ssssince alwaaaayssss
And I say
fuck you.
Not anymore.
a-fucking-men.
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