Ask me again,
Why I fight rather than smile.
Why I shout rather than rationally speak.
Maybe because I was born into a world,
Where my gender made me inferior.
Scoundrels,
Also referred to as men,
Look at me,
As iff I am meat, or something to eat.
Apparently I'm a dog,
So states their whistles,
As I walk down the street,
Minding my own bussiness.
It's the kitchen,
Or it's the laughing stock,
That's the only choice I have.
Cook and clean,
THEIR reason for my existence,
The choice of the kitchen
Or stand up and speak up,
MY reason for my existence
The choice of the laughing.
So ask me again,
Why I fight rather than smile,
Because I was born into a world,
Where womanhood is seen as weakness,
And I refuse to accept that world,
So I fight, rather than smile at the kitchen.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Justice
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