When half of the act bears all the sin,
Injustice is merely our flawed perception.
Every one of us is Hester Prynne;
Secondary status bequeathed to us with lofty deception.
Those in positions of power wear skin of piety,
Hiding the acts they claim to detest with lies
And while we’re admonished for our shortcomings by society,
They enact legislation for the space between our thighs.
Women aren’t capable of intelligent thought,
Our bodies worth little more than livestock.
So our rights and freedoms can be sold and bought,
Not unlike slaves on an auction block.
They’ll direct our attention to the Middle East
And say: “Look at how badly women have it there!”
Consequently, concern for our liberties will cease
While we celebrate the privilege to display our hair.
Women are spurned for reporting rape,
Viewed as an insignificant infraction
While her accuser’s gender provides an escape
From his role in those twenty minutes of action.
To distract from our outrage, they present us with clowns,
Instruct us to go about our days in vigilance.
Men with painted faces terrorize our towns
Invoking feelings of fear and ambivalence.
The clowns disappear when our anger subsides
And our resolve goes limp and mushy.
Then the puppet masters gleefully sneak up from behind,
Grabbing us all by the pussy.