(no subject)

[trinsy]

Phallicy

Women of the twenty-first century,
We’re told that we can have it all:
Be the hero of our story,
Be the beauty at the ball.

Have the powerful career.
Be the ideal mom and wife.
Be successful, be fulfilled
In our corporate/domestic life.

But ultimately, as we know,
(We learn the truth from our TVs)
The sole objective of our lives
Is finding a man we can please.

Our respect men demand from us,
(By which they mean, give up our own)
Leaving us with this paradox:
Need someone or be alone.

Woman’s real occupation
Is of course subordination,
For a woman who can save herself
Will never get a man;

And without a man, all is not well:
A woman is an empty shell –
She spends her weekends with her cats,
Finds solace where she can.

For man it is perfectly fine
To fall in love and keep his mind.
But woman gets the dreadful choice:
Lose out on love or lose her voice.

“But be content!” our TVs shout.
“You have the choice to go without.
That’s more than your grandmothers had.
And are things really quite so bad?

Keep your career, just on the side.
You might have to give up your pride,
But you’ll have kids, a husband too
(The natural destiny for you).

And if that is not what you want,
Then don’t complain about your lot,
Though we’ll all judge and pity you,
And speculate that you’re a shrew,

Of course it’s fine. Go do your thing!
We’ll look pointedly for your ring,
And do our best to make you cry –
But rise above it. Go on, try!”

But if we do try to stay free,
We’re told our lives misery.
They put us down, they howl with rage,
‘til we go willingly to our cage.

Enlightened women in our pantsuits,
We put on rings and keep our minds mute,
Ingrained with this phallicy:
We’d be unhappy were we free.