Poem – Untitled

By Kaysang

it feels like
the scariest,
dirtiest,
most scandalous words
i could utter these days
is to say,
“i am a feminist”.
is that a smirk,
a disdainful scoff,
a dismissive wave of your hands
brushing off
equality of all genders?
i mean,
i understand conservative,
old-school traditionalists
who’ve never had their fathers
cook or clean
saying that we’ve never had
a history
of oppression of women
in our community.
i understand that
encountering this strange word
with its emphasis on ‘fem’
sounding like
domination,
recognition
and revolution
scares the hell out of your
comfortably-cocooned
masculine world —
because you’ve never had to question
whether your quick temper
would make you seem like
another
‘hysterical’ woman.
what I don’t understand though?
YOU,
social justice warrior.
you,
with your ten facebook posts a day
about the bombings in Syria
and the farmers in India,
Black Lives Matter in America
and the Chinese colonization of Tibet.
you,
with your
twitter-fingers
shooting off 140 characters,
twenty retweets an hour
about journalistic freedom,
the world’s rapid heating
and yes,
sometimes
also about women’s rights
to our own voices
and opinions
and bodies.
why does my identification,
my voice and its volume,
the passion of my argument
and my choice of
social
justice
movement
make you uncomfortable?
why does
feminism
make you uncomfortable?
where is your
justification
of social-justice-warrior-anger?
or does a woman have to
tone down,
be calm,
speak soft
and cater to your comfort
and down-size herself
to fit into your ideas of
a ‘greater cause’ to be justified?
is this your
social justice
hypocrisy?
(02.19.2016)

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