WOMANIFESTO

 

Congratulations.

You have woken the witch that lives deep inside me.

You have removed the slumber chains from the giant of old.

You have handed me a box of matches and no chaperone

And a world made of lies and polyester.

Congratulations.

 

You have barked up the wrong bitch.

 

Proclaim it:

I have shucked off the good, southern lady’s cloak,

Of the homecoming court, the cheerleader,

The preacher’s daughter, hands gentled in her lap.

They tied it at my neck with a bow, a Gordian girl-knot,

When I was young and bossy and sure-footed

“For protection,” they said.

Whose protection? I wondered.

Enough.

I have sent that shit out to the dry cleaners

I will not pick it up

They can sell it for a profit from a rack on the street.

From now on,

I’m exposing the raw pink edges of my true skin to the sun.

Some things can’t be prettied up.

 

I used to be embarrassed by this side of me:

Messy. Expansive. Unraveled by rage.

The barroom brawler holding out a broken bottle

With a shaking hand

Blood jumping to a punk-rock soundtrack in my soul

Eyes so alive they had to be narrowed to keep the light of all that truth

From burning up the room.

These mornings when I wake,

I feel as if I have eaten a breakfast of gunpowder and a handful of stars

The combination roiling, anticipatory, explosive

My mouth ready to spew out a universe of fire and

An ancestral memory of the silenced women who came before,

Rotting in their shrouds, long dead under the ground

Still angry.

 

No one seems to understand:

That rage has to go somewhere.

Some girls cut. Some girls starve.

Some fuck strangers, tell themselves it’s freedom, not numbness.

Some guzzle gin when no one’s looking.

Some girls swallow their rage down and vomit it back up with the

penetration of a reprimanding finger, stifling the voice,

an Inside Job

The internalized, reflexive police force

Body violating body,

Forever and ever

Amen.

 

I have done all of those things:

Starved. Cut. Boozed. Fucked and run.

I’ve punished myself the way

the world wants to see its women

punished.

Spoiler alert: It’s exhausting.

No.

You exhaust us.

No.

You. Are. Exhausting.

You. And your bullshit.

You, the Senators and Churches.

You, the old men holding the law hostage to your whims.

Blind Justice?

Nah. That bitch sees fine.

Puts the blindfold on herself now.

Stockholm Syndrome, you know.

Happens after a while.

Shrug. Step. Repeat.

Jazz hands.

 

They told me not to raise my voice.

So I learned to swallow all my sharp words.

They told me not to be disagreeable.

So I learned lipstick and smiling, a catechism of femininity.

They told me I was shame.

So I learned to feel shame.

They told me not to curse.

 

Yeah. Good luck with that, motherfuckers.

 

Oh, beautiful for spacious goddamned skies

For “fuck off” and “bite my ass”

Thundering across the parched grasslands of my tongue

Like middle-finger mustangs who won’t be tamed.

Cursing was the first language of my anger.

The poison apple spit out, not choked in.

A weaponized mouth and a sharp wit

To establish a DMZ—“You shall not pass.”

That foul mouth has saved me from myself.

Try to take it from me, motherfucker.

I double-goddamn-dog-dare you.

 

Oh, my anger needs room to roam.

I will spread my legs on the subway seat

Let it take up space.

I will turn up my coat collar and skulk the streets,

Hands fisted in pockets, knuckles turned towards the world, ready.

Oh, it’s on.

I will call up to my sisters at their windows,

“Yo! Leave the dishes in the sink,

and the pantyhose to drip from the towel bar.

Leave your shame on the floor

So they’ll see it first when they come inside,

Expecting you

but finding you

Gone

nothing but a slipped skin, a

warning

To remind them that they were right to fear you

All along.”

Then, soft as a lover:

“Come out into the streets, all you messy ones.

All you angry, hurting, had-enough ones.

It’s time.

Come on out. Come out.”

 

I have awakened to reclaim that girl.

The one refusing the cloak at her throat.

I am an angry woman with a voice

And a foul mouth

And a pen as cutting

as the jagged teeth of a bottle

that has been broken too hard against the bar

and is now a weapon

in a barroom brawl.

 

Your move.

Come at me, motherfuckers.

 

 

 

 

 

246 thoughts on “WOMANIFESTO

  1. Pingback: WOMANIFESTO – DISCOVER

  2. These words gave me a surge of strength I have not felt in a long while.

    Thank you Libby for reminding me of the sheer sorcery that is language.

  3. Oh yes…the sweet hot rush of YES thundering through my head, my mind, my heart, my body! my throat? not quite yet, or rather not yet again. I am slow to spew the evil out again for yet another time, another wave of just can’t hold it in anymore… but it will happen. and hearing other amazing women speak the honesty makes it easier. from the deepest recess of my soul I thank you. blessings of the deepest well to you and the furthest stars as well.

    • Me salvaste la vi023#8230;&#8a&0;&#823d;. una vez lo hice de otra forma.. había entrado así como en las opciones de google chrome y desde allí lo borre uno por uno pero no me acuerdo como entrar otra vez…. Era un ventanita parecida a las opciones de autocompletar, si alguien sabe lo que digo que me lo diga por favor…

  4. Yaaaassss, Libba, Yaaaassss! this is beautiful. Wonderful. I have found myself, my friends in your poem. Thank you.

  5. Holy shit. You are incredible. I am teary eyed, excited, with words that want to spill out of my mouth but are kept pushed down by a lump in my throat. I NEEDED this poem at this exact time in my life. It is like you read my experiences and my journal entry about them. Your poem is a gift – more precious than rubies and means more to me than words can express. Thank you.

  6. disse:Have you ever considered about adding a little bit more than just your articles? I mean, what you say is important and all. But think about if you added some great graphics or video clips to give your posts more, &#82#0;pop&28221;! Your content is excellent but with images and videos, this blog could undeniably be one of the most beneficial in its niche. Superb blog!

  7. Brilliant – so visceral! I find being creative with anger helps. It is quite a force if channelled positively. The poem today on my poetry blog here on WordPress is about female anger in case you have time to look? Have a good day, Sam 🙂

  8. Reblogged this on Petite Wisdom and commented:
    To explain the feelings that I had while reading this would be to show you the dephts of my soul. Incredible is too little a word, thank you for this Libba– you have truly captured what it means to be a woman in this world.

    To all of my readers– please take a second to read this. You will not regret it.

    -x,x Paula

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