almost pretty.

xvi. the gratuitous feminist one

(alternatively: yes, i am the man-hating dyke)

for the girls who have had their clever minds veiled
with violence, with snark, with shrill street whistles;
the moths who had their wings clipped off
by little boys playing with mummy's nail scissors.
for the girls who were invaded like nations, every toll,
for the girls who tie their hair above it all.

we are pretty, but not for them
lips smeared with insect blood and crushed-up horn;
we write theses with dagger heels, and men 
wonder why their throats look so much like stepping stones.
some girls are quiet, but some war-cry,
and we are the girls who won't ever, ever die.