My life is a fight, every day. I am an enraged and reasoning
womon. I HAVE to fight all the violence of wars: wars against womyn, wars
against people of color, wars against countries of color, wars of the military
and prison industrial complex - which thrive on racism & misogyny; wars of
lies, myths, twisted truths and the amerikkkan nitemare.
I get soooo tired sometimes in my regular, every day life –
this is my life other then my work and my meeting my daily needs work, which
can also be exhausting but is as deeply rewarding especially when I do not dwell
on how tragically sorrowful it is to have to be doing the work I do.
But I’m talking about my life in general, where I often feel
like I have to fight every moment of the day – for something is happening, so
many lies, so many careless, thoughtless, racist, misogynist, violent things
are spewed in my direction constantly it seems.
And I realize, I went thru my days fighting.
For example, today I’m minding my own business when someone
at the library has to mention that prostitution is the oldest profession on
Who the fuck started this idiotic violent slander against
womyn – and excuse for normalizing while condoning & rewarding male
violence? Well, that was an idiotic question – why patriarchal men (not to be
redundant) of course.
Why the fuck do we all tend to accept this as some god-given
fact, humorous even?
No one in the library challenged this white man’s misogynist
statement. In fact, the typical male snickers abounded while womyn
uncomfortably if not shamefully smiled into their feet.
I had to halt this discordant tune flat.
“You are gravely mistaken”, my voice clearly rings out, omitting
the asshole. “Womyn were forced to sell their bodies when the patriarchy took
over, when men thru brute force decided all resources belonged to them, when
men set up a system of selling those resources, and denied women the ability to
earn money to access those resources, leaving women with no choice”.
Snickering men look uncomfortably if not shamefully away,
the verbal man sputters, womyn raise their eyes to gape at me as if I’m
speaking some alien language.
A young stainless-steel laden adolescent girl smiles
brightly thru hoops and round dots & gives me the thumbs up!
The speaker, getting more agitated by the moment, wants to
argue with me, as his cries follow me out of the library. I turn to him and
tell him I have nothing else to say to him. Period.
He of course has to begin calling me names referring to my
sex and even my sexuality – yes, I am a womon and a dyke. My bike helmet is on,
my bike lock unlocked, & I escape – but as usual, I wonder about the womyn
in this man’s life, and their safety, their core, their bodies.
And I wonder if they fight.