If I were a man
you’d call me ‘my brother’
We’d drink beer, sing songs, read poetry
late into the night,
swap our latest

I have a body that makes straight men look.
Legs, arse, tits,
baby face, symmetry, plump lips
There’s a warm love inside
but that dick of yours has no concept of
just an unrepentant

I don’t flirt like the other women
All fluttery
I flirt like someone with balls
when I flirt at all

You might be the man in my dream —
the one about the comfortable bohemian house,
the books and music
the friends coming around
the art
the activism
the equal partners

you know what?
The woman in my dream
isn’t me. She’s not, is she?
She’s the cushion woman
the carpet woman
the send you hearts on facebook woman
the sari woman
the sandalwood patchouli woman
the bells on her fingers woman
the rose vanilla lavender woman
the butterfly tattoo woman, the woman, the woman
with long glossy hair
and vagina eyes. Yeah, long glossy hair
and vagina eyes

But she isn’t even part
of me.
I can never be her
Never was
Never will be
Never want to be

And she’s what you want, yeah?
The vagina woman
The womb woman
The open up and make room woman
The big juicy tit woman
The boneless chicken, salt, tarragon, lemon woman
The your name on her breath woman
The make you feel big woman

and I’m the
cut you down to size woman
right back at ya woman
don’t look up to anyone woman
I’m the
wingtip to wingtip eye to eye side by side woman
the boots woman
the bareface truth woman
the knife woman
the leather belt woman
the don’t mess with or else woman

I’m not
the soft-poemed
scented woman
lighting the candles
arranging the cushions
But I am a woman.

If I were a man
you’d call me ‘my brother’
We’d drink beer, sing songs, read poetry
late into the night

What do you think?

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