poem: this will probably offend you (i’m not sorry)

i would be brilliant at being victorian, even as i would

hate it

but at least then the war cries of women

(western, privileged women)

would make sense. as it is, i am the artist looking stupidly (they say)

to the wrong political direction and for me

life

comes before a maligned humanist choice. new american freedom is at the expense

of dead tiny-feet in a cupped plastic hand.

let’s push at the extremes of gender and family and leave

western civilization for the dogs (it’s offensive, anyway, and too exclusive). do

i deserve this tradition if you all speak for art

and then mock mine because i marked ‘capitalism’ on the millennial brain-box.

how can i be a woman only by killing what is inside me, the child and the

feminity both, men now too dark to be anything but woman and all women

proudly, strongly, freely men. your inclusive rainbow-painted smiles

leave me out; i am on the sidelines, in skirts, virgin until marriage and

fierce unto my self, unpopular still, thank you.