Everywhere I look, women are shrinking,
it’s prolific in our postures in pictures
as if the perceived size of our hips,
lips, thighs or tits
is the potion of female liberation
like possession of the perfectly plucked or painted eyebrow
somehow proves we don’t need feminism now
because we can also wear trousers
and we sometimes get pockets
but we can’t enjoy these clothes,
they’re constrictive, and society is addicted
to our size,
so we’ll be made to feel shit in them anyway
whatever the scales say,
but go for what’s comfortable
and then we’re criticised for coming as ourselves
and not in the smart tight shirt, pencil skirt and stilettos
that showcase our skills to meet this job spec
better than a man can.
So, sorry, I stand corrected,
women can take up space
when they’re not perceived as a threat
but just a pretty face,
throw on some lace underwear
and men can stare at our chests
for a page in print.
I’ve took the hint,
breasts are there for aesthetics
and men can do what they like to them
but we’re shunned for using them
to dare feed our children
in a public place,
seems some men support our free the nipple campaign
only as long as they get a taste
and womenspreading is just seen
as when a woman spreads her legs,
it’s still about men filling our holes
and not about us reclaiming control
of our space and our bodies
for all the times it’s been taken away.
When my space was invaded through an act of rape
I thought I could never again exist in this body and feel safe,
danger lurked in every touch
in any place
on any date
and at first I’d just smile and put on a brave face
because I had no clue what to do with all this rage
and statistics convinced me
that fighting back increased the chance
my life would be left in the hands of a man
like with domestic violence
a woman is most at risk when she leaves
and in taking back her space
and having the opportunity to be free
she could end up six foot under the ground,
so tell me again that we don’t need feminism now?
See you might think that we don’t
because I’ve got the ability to speak
but outside of this poem
sometimes this voice is weak
and it’s quiet, and it’s sorry for taking up your time
and I doubt anyone would want to hear these experiences of mine
and I think I don’t deserve the lights
and the stage and a mic,
I’m still at war with myself and every day is a fight
to create my own space, in a room of my own,
I want to join the grrrls at the front
and get out my comfort zone
taking action, and not just writing poems at home.
I want to see more women in politics and on panel shows
and on bookshelves and in stand up and as CEOs
and as leads in films that pass the Bechdel test
and on the front line and going to press
and in magazines for our talent, not whether we looked good in a dress,
and on our own at nightclubs
because our ass won’t get grabbed
by some creep passing by
who tells us to smile when we just want to cry.
Instead the world will give us our slice of the pie
and the more calories the better
because this stands for our rights,
and we’ll show up for ourselves,
tell stories, create music, make art,
in honour of the women before us who couldn’t
and for those women amongst us who still can’t.
