Trivial Measure

Women’s History Month

Is a trivial measure,

A band-aid over

What it means

To be a woman

In a society

That doesn’t afford us equality...

A decency

That every human being deserves

Just for breathing.

I mean,

Isn’t it ironic

That March fades away

Into April Fool’s Day…

Isn’t it quite fitting

To roll into the hilarity

Of mindless jokes

And barbarity,

After thirty-one days

Of celebrating women

In assumed solidarity?

Don’t think we can’t see

When the educating is complete

Our men in lead

Return to limiting us (me).

Not that they ever really let up.

You don’t get to set aside

A small fraction

Of the year

To pacify the cries

Of women

That just want to be seen

Unbiasedly.

Because you have shown us (me)

Where we stand,

Or rather,

Where we should kneel

For the rest of the year…

At the feet

Of a patriarchy

That allows our assaulters

To run free,

Because “what was she wearing?”

Since we were old enough

To comprehend

Subliminal messages,

It has been ingrained

In our brains

That we are weak,

Through all of the ways

Men tell little boys

Not to be like us (me).

“Crying is for girls,”

“Take it like a man,”

And “only women belong

In the kitchen,”

Are popular quotes

Of male reprehension

That hold so much more meaning

To the women

Who are listening.

And recently,

It seems

We’ve relapsed

Into the roles

Of the past,

Because the right to choose

How we reproduce

Has been overturned…

Just like the feminists

Who paved the way

For women’s rights

Are now turning over

In their graves,

Clawing to be released

Back into the streets

Of angry women

Who will make a change.

The neglect of respect

For our bodily autonomy,

By men

Who don’t understand

The complexities

Of our reproductive system,

Has stolen every ounce

Of tolerance and empathy

From our repertoire

Of pleasantries.

Oppressing our possibilities

Because you’re scared

Of our capabilities,

Is proof

That we are not

The sex living

In a fragile reality.

And I get it,

I know firsthand

How threatening

The power and intelligence

Of a woman can be…

Trust me,

I feel the force

Of a million

Susan B. Anthony’s

At war inside of me.

Stripping away women’s rights

And endangering our lives

Might make you feel righteous

And supreme,

But you’re only sharpening the teeth

Of an infantry

That was already stronger than you

And your small-minded bigotry.

And if you believe

You have authority over us (me)

And our personal decisions…

Then you might need to check

The outdated prescription

Of your nineteenth century vision.

And until women receive equality

Every day of every week,

We can all stop pretending

That Women’s History Month

Is enough celebration

For the women

Who have ached

And for the women

Who are still aching

To make a permanent change.