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Feminism = Justice

2014-02-01 06:42:03 by supergandhi64


The World Is Full Of Women

Who'd Tell Me I Should Be Ashamed Of Myself

If They Had The Chance. Quit Dancing.

Get Some Self-Respect

& A Day Job.

Right. & Minimum Wage,

& Varicose Veins, Just Standing

In One Place For Eight Hours

Behind A Glass Counter

Bundled Up To The Neck, Instead Of

Naked As A Meat Sandwich.

Selling Gloves, Or Something.

Instead Of What I Do Sell.

You Have To Have Talent

To Peddle A Thing So Nebulous

& Without Material Form.

Exploited, They'd Say. Yes, Any Way

You Cut It, But I've A Choice

Of How, & I'll Take The Money.


I Do Give Value.

Like Preachers, I Sell Vision,

Like Perfume Ads, Desire

Or Its Facsimile. Like Jokes

Or War, It's All In The Timing.

I Sell Men Back Their Worse Suspicions:

That Everything's For Sale,

& Piecemeal. They Gaze At Me & See

A Chain-Saw Murder Just Before It Happens,

When Thigh, Ass, Inkblot, Crevice, Tit, & Nipple

Are Still Connected.

Such Hatred Leaps In Them,

My Beery Worshippers! That, Or A Bleary

Hopeless Love. Seeing The Rows Of Heads

& Upturned Eyes, Imploring

But Ready To Snap At My Ankles,

I Understand Floods & Earthquakes, & The Urge

To Step On Ants. I Keep The Beat,

& Dance For Them Because

They Can't. The Music Smells Like Foxes,

Crisp As Heated Metal

Searing The Nostrils

Or Humid As August, Hazy & Languorous

As A Looted City The Day After,

When All The Rape's Been Done

Already, & The Killing,

& The Survivors Wander Around

Looking For Garbage

To Eat, & There's Only A Bleak Exhaustion.

Speaking Of Which, It's The Smiling

Tires Me Out The Most.

This, & The Pretence

That I Can't Hear Them.

& I Can't, Because I'm After All

A Foreigner To Them.

The Speech Here Is All Warty Gutturals,

Obvious As A Slab Of Ham,

But I Come From The Province Of The Gods

Where Meanings Are Lilting & Oblique.

I Don't Let On To Everyone,

But Lean Close, & I'll Whisper:

My Mother Was Raped By A Holy Swan.

You Believe That? You Can Take Me Out To Dinner.

That's What We Tell All The Husbands.

There Sure Are A Lot Of Dangerous Birds Around.


Not That Anyone Here

But You Would Understand.

The Rest Of Them Would Like To Watch Me

& Feel Nothing. Reduce Me To Components

As In A Clock Factory Or Abattoir.

Crush Out The Mystery.

Wall Me Up Alive

In My Own Body.

They'd Like To See Through Me,

But Nothing Is More Opaque

Than Absolute Transparency.

Look--My Feet Don't Hit The Marble!

Like Breath Or A Balloon, I'm Rising,

I Hover Six Inches In The Air

In My Blazing Swan-Egg Of Light.

You Think I'm Not A Goddess?

Try Me.

This Is A Torch Song.

Touch Me & You'll Burn.


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2014-02-02 16:03:35

nice song c:
well , however we liked it or not .. we can't live without women :P
mothers , sisters , daughters , wives ... women are great ^w^

supergandhi64 responds:

I Agree


2014-02-02 16:08:50

An unrivaled Shakespearean masterpiece

supergandhi64 responds:

As If A Member Of The Patriarchy Such As William Shakespeare Has Anything On Margaret Atwood's Unrivaled Poetry


2014-02-11 06:11:20

Would you agree that Satsuki-sama is the best girl?

supergandhi64 responds:

Utena Best Girl


2014-02-11 23:50:26

Kurumu is best girl.

supergandhi64 responds:

I Highly Doubt That


2014-02-12 10:44:15

Much desu.

supergandhi64 responds:



2014-02-15 04:15:29

hey boo <3

supergandhi64 responds:

Hey Girlfriend! How Was Sunday Mass? XOXO


2014-02-17 02:01:53

Get back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.

supergandhi64 responds:

Another One Of Your "Obviously Sarcastic & Clearly Harmless" Jokes I Presume


2014-02-16 20:08:03

SuperGandhi? More like SuperGODLY because you're just so God-tier like that.

supergandhi64 responds:

I Appreciate Your Kind Sentiments! However I'm Just A Human Being & Would Never Think Of Myself As God. Like Everyone Else I Am Created In God's Image By God Himself


2014-02-16 21:26:44

how does it feel to be absolutely based

supergandhi64 responds:

Hella Empowering


2014-02-22 15:16:19

oh my god what is this poem?

supergandhi64 responds:

Helen Of Troy Does Countertop Dancing By Margaret Atwood Nark Nark Nark