I am not a feminist.

 

I grow weary of the gender card,

the throwing down of blame.

 

I am not oppressed.

I do not give my consent to be subjugated

or dominated by

men or women,

 

except when I desire it.

 

I balance my feminine with my masculine,

they are not at war, or even opposition, but rather flow

in and out of me

at my will.

 

I am not pious or righteous for being born female.
I am happy to objectify indiscriminately,

and really, whose business is it how we fantasize about one another,

isn’t flesh an object anyway

we molt and throw away, rinse down the drain.

I am not a feminist because I am not just female.

My identity is not static;

just like my eyes are not blue like it says on my license

but rather a teal-gray with a ring of gold;

it is the same oversimplification and omission to label myself as a woman

a quick once-over of my curves belying the variegations beneath the skin,

the deep rivers of my masculinity coursing,

curling into my core —

I am both the snake and the flower it hides inside of

 

I am not okay with shaming men for the evolution of our species.

I Love Men, their smell and their swag,

their denial of their own nakedness

and their slow realization that their dicks are not really swords,

but rather the externalization of fear,

vulnerability masquerading as a weapon

Women, in turn, sensitive to these scared men, have pretended to be softer,

downplaying the depth of their power.

 

If you don’t respect me because of what is between my legs,

then clearly you haven’t been between them

because I don’t have a vagina – I have a portal to the inside of your own soul.

 

I am not a feminist because in its structure, it implies alliance to inequality instead of seeking the

balance of gender

favors fighting against, instead of harmonizing with, the natural, subtle, magnetic rhythms

of other humans

and engaging in uninhibited,

trans-morphic,

body-less

connection.

 

When you are brave enough to abandon your box,

ready to deconstruct your exo-sexuality,

revise your dictionary and engorge your thesaurus,

trample traditions and dissect the dichotomy,

you will discover that gender is not so simple as m or f

not necessarily determined by your body

or congruous with your clothing

but is just a story told by a culture of separation and classification.

 

I am not a feminist.

My alliance isn’t even to the human race

but instead the thread of love that sews us all invisibly together

that knows no sex at all.

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About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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