Of Fingerprints & Feminism


Where did your feminism come from?
And why does it look so different from mine?

Where did you learn to be so scared,
Of wearing shorts around your father
But muster up the courage to yell at lechers
Like their mothers should have?

How come your feminism is so vocal,
That you bleed 4 days a month
But would find it hard to admit that
You touch yourself in ways you wish a man would?

How come you always resented your mother
For spending all her time in the kitchen
And find yourself pretending to be her
When your mother-in-law visits?

How come your feminism made you
Pack your bags in such a rage
When he said your success
Was making him feel small?

But when he gave you a black eye
And told everyone you fell down the stairs
How come your feminism
Allowed you to stay?

Perhaps your feminism can’t be explained
And will always be uniquely
Yours to celebrate
And yours to endure

So who am I to judge?
When your feminism is like your fingerprint
How absurd would it be
To claim my fingerprint, better than yours?

6 thoughts on “Of Fingerprints & Feminism

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