Okay dude?
I’m sorry
That the genitals between my thighs
Defy what you wanted from me
And define who I am
To you.
I’m sorry
That the ass in my pants
And the boobs on my chest
And the shoulder in my shirt
Distract you.
I’m sorry
That my gender
Is an open invitation
For you to stare
And to touch
And think about
But when I don’t like it
I am unfair
Because I am a
“Woman in a man’s trade”
And these things are bound
To happen.
I’m sorry
That I am
Such a threat.
I’m sorry
That the hands I use
Just the same as yours
Are smaller
And cannot hold so much
But I have sewn my own baskets
And wove my own thread
To carry as much as you.
I’m sorry
That it takes me
A bit longer to carry that pipe
Or unspool that wire
You’re right.
I’ll try harder.
I’m sorry
That society has told you
It is my job
To solely handle
The responsibilities
Of a child
My child
Because it emerged from my loins
And my job, though the same,
Is less important.
I’m sorry
That I won’t be at work today
Because that child is sick
And it is my responsibility
Even though
It’s my responsibility
To provide an equal income
Just like he does, right?
I’m sorry
That every other man came to work
Because their wives are responsible
Just like I am.
I’m sorry
That I am less of an employee
Because it is my responsibility
That YOU deemed
You men and your blue collars
Refuse to see
That mine is just as blue
That I work and sweat and bleed
Just like you do.
I’m sorry
That I’m tired today
I have to work twice as hard
To compare to you
Make ladders to be taller
Weave baskets because I’m smaller
And rig pulleys to be as strong
As you are.
I’m sorry
That your father never taught you
The definition of equality
And that the tables do not lay
In your favor
But they lay less in mine
Though I work the same job
If not harder
Don’t you see that?
Though I’ve spent seven years
In this back breaking career
Compared to you
I will always be less
Because you men keep saying
I do not belong
And that this
Is your world
That I should be at home
In a fucking dress
Making your dinner.
I’m tired of saying I’m sorry
For working twice as hard
To be one of you
Meanwhile there’s 3 of me
The mother,
The wife,
And the employee.
I am expected to clean
And to cook
And to feed
And to sew
And to shop
And to work
And to pay
And to behave
But I’m fucking tired
Of being all these things
For equal pay
And higher stakes.
God forbid I take a day
For myself to heal my body
From the same illness
I had to heal him from.
How about you
Stop treating me like swine
You’re not the master
Nor am I the peasant
How many times
Must I prove that I
Am just as capable
Despite all the extras
Society has decided I must be
Because of the gender
That I was born
And the children
Born from it
I’m not sorry anymore.
This is not an invitation
For you to treat me different
A birth right born to you
Because I have a slit between mine
And you have two berries and a twig
Between yours.
Okay dude?
