he'd rather i be a woman

and pray my day away

he'd rather i be a woman

and weigh my tears in silent song

he'd rather i be a woman

cognitively distant but forever giving

he'd rather i be a woman

than a person with a scorned tongue

i wonder why he doesn't appreciate my well-earned secrets

of false ownership and reviving community and active liberation

but he'd rather i be a woman

and bite my tongue and smile through my doubt

he'd rather i be a colonial woman

like my grandmother

working

breeding

never saying much

he'd rather i not be a mirror

of the patriarchy he naturally benefits from

for when i dismantle it brick by brick

there is no ignoring the horror-

it has wrought the entire foundation.

it would be easier if i were a woman

a fuck doll with no mouth

numb from the the disconnect of self

he'd rather i keep my thoughts internal

for he is not used to seeing the world as i do

instead he merely sees me as a woman

who fits in a very tiny frame

but i am not a woman

i am a person

i am multidimensional

i am tired

i am in constant pain

it wears down the soul

i am in search of gentleness

and few men have enough even for themselves

so the only gentleness i now seek

is within the bounds of my own arms

and my, my what a safe haven of love i exhume

no wonder he is so wanting of me to be a woman