Mythical Amazon

I dream of Mythical Amazon,

where we could be truly free.

A promised land for the beautiful non-fools,

cursed vessels for wise souls,

worst thing a girl can grow up to be.

Inspite of mama Daisy’s suffering,

and matter of fact teachings;

magazines and face filters illustrate:

the power still excluded to men.

Brains can’t provide physical safety;

they say “learn to self defend”

“if I were you, I wouldn’t be a victim,”

instead of declaring rape culture:

a public health crisis.

At least one in four womxn

will succumb to the virus;

that’s the number that gets reported.

Most of us keep secrets

that would skew numbers.

Meanwhile the men sit at home,

playing destructive videos alone;

infecting youth with the virus.

Smarts don’t help heal...

Near photographic memories,

replaying occasionally, reminding.

The kind of virus like chicken pox,

you get really sick and move on,

but you never know when shingles

will haunt you...

Is it in the middle of a shift,

working minimum wage,

trying to escape the hell in which you exist?

Maybe one of your kids birthdays,

and you smile and pretend,

because moms don’t get mental health days.

What if there was a city,

people like me could go?

Doctors would be required to identify,

with the gender that wishes to save me;

They don’t view their patients,

as drug seekers,

when they have an unknown disease,

or are womxn of color,

or God forbid, smoke THC.

because they might believe all womxn.

We won’t lose our moms,

to stage four diagnoses,

because doc prescribed weight loss and diet,

the last fifteen checkups;

she wasn’t a perfect ten,

so he didn’t take time to listen.

Mental health healing,

for the aforementioned virus,

could provide comfort,

because we can’t hope for justice.

Just not wanting to die again,

getting off our paths of self destruction;

the beautiful non-fools consider this a win.

In this perfect paradise,

leggings are considered pants,

without judgement,

or the uncomfortable male gaze.

Makeup is not required,

for promotions or esteem,

instead optional practices of self care.

Our visions of a utopian future,

not mocked or seen as weak;

and “No.”

Is a complete sentence;

without question:

an imperative, a verbal command,

like “Stop.”

Where you, the subject, is implied,

predicates simple to understand,

adverbs and adjectives not required;

it can be the end of a dialogue.

It’s not asking for a follow up,

if you didn’t learn this growing up...

I’m a mother now, I’m happy to teach you.

Understanding consent:

a requirement for admission,

to mythical Amazon.

Motherhood isn’t determined by the state,

it takes a village to raise a babe;

if that’s what she wants in the first place...

if she needs help, no fear of losing kids,

we will move in if you need us to;

life coaches help get you back on track.

Houselessness does not exist,

plenty of land for people to live;

allowed to self sustain,

nurturing ourselves,

as Mother Earth intended.

Big signs illuminate the sky,

T.E.R.F.s need absolutely NOT apply,

hatred of sisters leaves you unqualified;

don’t preach tolerance to me,

outside of Mythical Amazon’s gates,

freedom of speech can’t mask your hate.

Learn to love fellow womxn,

Evolve yourself, we’ll let you back in.

In Mythical Amazon,

there is no race to white,

straight and blonde,

unprivileged with preference;

we prefer a blend of textures and colors,

like a Renaissance masterpiece.

No room in our museums,

for monochromatic yellow canvases.

Womxn aren’t assigned roles,

or scaled 1-10;

we are revolutionaries.

We scoff at your primitive standards,

safely behind our high sturdy walls;

your bruised egos can’t hurt us here.

Don’t “not all men” me...

1 in 4 womxn are reported victims,

so, statistically, you’re a rapist,

or an accomplice after the fact,

while you listened to him brag,

patted him on the back,

while he described his latest “conquest”.

I don’t want to have to guess,

which ones are the woke sons,

and which ones play pretend lib,

just to get close enough,

to grab her by the pussy.

Our oppressor preaches unity;

we’re expected to lie down,

for and with our oppressors...

Not in Mythical Amazon,

the only unity that matters is sisterhood.

If we lie with her or them,

or step outside the gates with him,

whatever your preference;

there is no sin.

“Promiscuity” is her own damn business,

love is love, people are people.

Womxn are human.

I must be dreaming, of Mythical Amazon.