A Brief History of Hating Women

Since youth you’ve been obsessed
by how the ills of all society
are lain at women’s doors like skins.
From Potiphar’s wife to Mrs Clinton,
it’s always women’s fault.

She wasn’t a good enough mum,
she couldn’t keep mum,
she slept around all over town
or seemed at least like that’s
what she wanted. Or else she was frigid.

You realise in the end that no true road exists between the rock of what men want and what
you’d like to be, a hard place undefined.
The truth is that you’re just as flawed as men, as great, and grim, and complicated.

The feminine press may break your bones
with its myriad keys, relentless crush,
a narrative forced upon your flesh until it can
be read by all and understood. But like
a photograph their lives a blurry self inside.