A View of How I Define Feminism

(This is a revision to "I'm a Feminist," a poem I posted earlier.  This revision is part of a class assignment and in direct response to the news out of Mississippi, where there is a push to redefine women's rights to the point where some forms of birth control would be rendered illegal.  Proposition 26 wants to define legal "personhood" as the point when sperm meets egg and the group behind it has stated they are against certain forms of birth control - IUDs, birth control pills, and other methods which prevent a fertilized egg from implaning in the womb.  This could set a dangerous precedent in terms of eliminating a woman's right to choose, a precedent that should not be allowed to take hold.)

“Every time we liberate a woman, we liberate a man.” - Margaret Mead

My dear, feminism doesn’t mean

I don’t want to be feminine.
I love wearing short skirts,
stepping out in stilettos, or
smearing my lipstick on your smooth lips,
as much as I loathe battling
my way into a body shaper,
blisters on my swollen fat baby toes
freed from Blahnik’s brig at the end
of a teetering tiptoeing day,
or the idea of you asking me to shave
a sliver of a landing strip into that
sweet spot I want to share with you.
Don’t dare ask me to trim my trim.
It feels foolish. I’ve earned each and every hair,
nature’s badge of my maturity.

It means I can be girly, gigglingly ga-ga over you

without being beholden to,or looked down upon by you.
You must let me be able to stand strong beside you.
It will remind you all girls grow up to be women.
Your every word, action, and gesture
help shape a growing girl that is into
the wonderful woman who will be.
A woman cannot be a whole woman
without your input, so be careful
what you put into me.
 
And I don’t just mean when
you are on top of me.
If you’re seeking a yielding mound
in which plant a flag, sow seed,
then forge on to other frontiers
with no thought to what’s been left behind,
I am not the woman for you.
I implore you, watch what you say,
what you mean,
what you do when you put
what you put into and onto
my head, my soul,
my heart, my whole being,
and don’t put it there until
I tell you, “Go ahead, I want you to.”

It means we must be equitable

partners in our workplace,
so treat me, approach me,
collaborate with me like I’m worthy,
and pay me equitably when you do.

It means we must be equitable

in hallowed halls of higher learning, because
a mind is a terrible thing upon which to lay waste
as we all try to better ourselves.

It means you must trust me completely

with my body, because planning my life,
when, or even if, I create life can only make
all our lives stronger and more secure.

It means I’m trying to love, to live, to be

just as much as you, so I shouldn’t be
held down by you because you fear
what I may be when tell you what feminism is.

It doesn’t mean I want to grow hair on my chest.

Be beaten or broken by you.
Get groped by gruff hands, grilled by grotesque words
when I got to work to make some green for my family.
It doesn’t mean I want to learn to pee standing up…
Any more.
I admit I tried once, but failed.
It’s the only penis envy I will ever have.

My dear, feminism simply means this:

I want to be free to be a woman.
I want you feel free enough to
acknowledge me as a woman
without either of us surrendering our dignity.
I want you to never doubt my ability to think clearly.
I want to be able to matriculate,
make a home, make a living,
make love, make a baby,
make my voice heard,
make my way in and through my life
in any way I may see fit.
It means I only ask one thing of you,
and will give the same in kind:
Respect.
 
(c) 2011 - Tracey Morris, All rights reserved