On Being Nice To Men

There are certain lines in my poems that I hold dearer to me than the others. These are the lines that I want displayed on my walls or, indeed, on my skin. “On Being Nice To Men” is one of my most treasured poems, which I recently performed live to an audience. Their supportive clicks spoke the lines that hit their hearts the most. In this version of my poem, I have bolded those that make me especially proud. Though, art does speak in different languages to its observer than intended by the artist.

~

'You’re not very nice to men'

my mother and sister said

over conversation and dinner.

They say, if I carry on this way,

I will be alone forever.

Maybe it’s just my humour.

And not everybody gets it.

Besides, I tell men at bars to fuck off

and they seem to find it attractive.

My sister will tell them,

'She is a psycho, you know?'

Hoping they will leave me alone

but, instead, they pull out their phones.

I have never wanted to change

the way that I speak.

But I am no longer sure this is

a choice that belongs to me.

The parts I like about myself

get tarnished once a man

takes a liking to them as well.

Why must they steal my personality

when they already own everything else?

So I try to be kinder.

Stick around longer

when I just want to leave.

Assume their intentions

are not what their brothers

have allowed me to believe.

Unlearn all of the lessons

that I was taught by society.

Try to be a good feminist

without getting angry.

I want to be friendly

and I want to be kind.

But I do not want my kindness

to be some rapist’s alibi.

And they’ll ask me why.

Why did I stay?

Why did I speak?

Why did I smile?

Why didn’t I leave?

Why was I there

at that time of day?

Because we can no longer state

that harassment only lives

in the night.

On a Monday morning

I have feared for my life.

Well-lit streets will only shine light

on the crime that continues to live

long after we die.

Our ancestors. Our sisters.

Our girls to come.

Fighting a battle

that is not ours to be won.

Because we are not the problem.

So why must we be the solution?

Fix your men. Fix the system.

Stop trying to fix the women.

You lengthen our hemlines

and cover our chests.

So offended by what keeps you fed.

Addicted to pornography

but call us all whores.

Fighting with yourself

but make it our war.

Say, 'This may be a man’s world

but, darling, it would be nothing

without a woman or a girl.'

Our existence gives you hierarchy.

For without women there

would be no patriarchy.

I tell my mother and sister

that I would rather be alone forever

than be a placeholder

in a man’s world

any longer.