Decorative and semi functional.
There to please the eyes of the men.
In the background with no useful dialogue.
The patriarchy wins again as the token woman is silent.
Or worse, misogyny overrules when it is determined
She is the villain of the story.
So instead the stories rule she will be used
only to further the protagonist’s arc.
Revenge or redemption and chance of her own fulfilling plot line.
The main one is guilt.
How could I let it happen?
When did this happen?
Is it true?
Who do I believe?
What questions should I ask?
Who can help me?
Fear is the next major emotion
then shock, anger and even surprise.
Regret plays in last because you thought all precautions had been taken
only to find out…
you were wrong!
Not taking a shower in three days.
Dishes piled up in the kitchen sink.
The process of removing the accumulated snot
during the recovery of the sickness.
The man catcalling the woman on the street.
Calling people worthless just because they are the wrong colour!
Denying climate change because the facts don’t make you money.
Anti-vaxxers or as I shall know call them plague enhancers
who think they know more than the doctors
who are trying to keep you and your kids alive!
Corporations that fund politicians to influence policy
and the politicians that allow themselves to be bribed.
My kid ignoring me as I ask them to take out the garbage by the back door.
My denial that I can not do anything
and just meekly accept things as they are!
The sexy lampshade walks and talks
but all she is there for is the furthering of his story.
She dies a tragic death so that it fuels his revenge.
The more shows and films I watch
the more bitter I become.
I want tasty bits for the women who show us what life is like.
The ones that real and not easily replaced with an inanimate object.
Sure the fuel for his character plot could have come from an old partners death
or the loss of his life’s work.
Why fall back on the tropes of misogyny?
Why treat the colors as inferior?
What does race mean or religion?
How are we different when we are all the same inside?
The blandness of the stories told need spicing up.
So please give me a little inclusion sauce.
I like seeing all the genders portrayed
even the most fluid of them!
The thrill of excitement.
The rush of adrenaline.
The boring follow up
as you are recaptured
and are coming down from the shock.
Laughing because you can.
Trying again will be harder
but this mundane life needs to be spiced up sometimes.
When the bad behaviour increases.
When the limits are pushed
and relearned the hard way.
They fight and scream and curse your name.
The dreaded uttered words
“I hate you!”
Usually screamed because it causes more of a scene.
It is in these trying times that the parent must remember
if this is how they react – it is good
because if they got everything they wanted
they would be spoiled and selfish when they grow up.
Afterwards, give them a hug
and remind them of your love.
Writing stuff that is not me.
Living vicariously through my cats.
Cleaning up after everyone else in the house.
Lack of sleep and random food times.
Striving to do better and despairing of success.
Not knowing what my next phase of life will be.
Anxious and unwilling to ask for help.
The phrases of good friends go unheard.
On this cold winter day
where the errands must be run
All I want is to curl up and cry.
Instead a false smile plastered on
as I head out the door to a future I don’t understand.
And you can’t answer
because….
You are in the shower.
You are sick.
You have other errands to do.
You are avoiding them.
You are distracted… by something or someone.
You want to have a happy day.
You are already at work.
You love your life.
You are not in the mood.
You just don’t want to.
It is not every day you answer the call.
And today is not that day.
Forgotten in the morning waking.
Not taken the day before.
The effects are seen in the one who should have.
Yet they carry on.
These things are used to help.
Some may abuse them
But the ones who truly need them
Find them a blessing, not a curse.
So try to remember the pill.
History is doomed to repeat if it is forgotten.
All the wars
All the victims
All the ones who fought
And died.
All the hate
All the fear
All the heartbreaking
pain of broken promises.
All of us
All of them
All of our blood
It all runs red.
Saturn's Premier Poet 