Am I A Feminist?
Real poetry by a talented writer.
Am I a feminist?
I make the fantasy real for him, giving up parts of myself –
Pieces of me, served up over silver platitudes,
three course meals
and French champagne.
Malleable breasts and tight buttocks
reclaim their complimentary one half of the whole
filling holes in Psyche every time she is alone.
Separate and connected,
happy and unremarkable
half truths, open to anyone who will listen.
In her deepest recesses, she is compartmentalised – a waif, aloof.
learned to leave a long time ago, doing only what they wanted to make them happier
for the two of us.
A tragedy, waiting for a fairy tale ending that doesn’t involve
the death of Eros.
Instead she paints pictures that never quite get finished –
My pastel chalks
covered in charcoal dust…
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