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,
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.