Shorts

It’s hot
I’m wearing shorts so the sweat on my thighs can escape
not to seduce you with my shins

Can’t you control your
basest instincts?
Are they really instincts?
Or are you just
a cunt
using nature as an excuse

I can see a tight arse and
want a taste
But I don’t call out
I know words
slither up necks and choke joy

So, extend an inch of intelligence
wake the dusty appendage between your ears
and
think.

Do you wonder why women cower from you
in a lift
on the street
in a park
at the bar

Do you wonder why we are labelled
manhaters?
When we first bloom
breasts
we are devoured by strangers
laid bare by their depraved
gaze

When having our bodies covered
is more important than
our education

When our potential and ambition
is gendered before
our first steps

You laugh when I swear at you,
call again as my middle finger
salutes you
Is this a game to you?

Greeted with such anger,
I would scream
I would apologise
I would
think
MMJ

 

 

This is an original poem written by Miriam Methuen-Jones.

Don’t forget you can follow me on twitter and instagram if you’re missing me between blog posts.

© Miriam Methuen-Jones and miriammj.com, 2017. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Methuen-Jones and miriammj.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. The author should be notified of any use of excerpts or original content.

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