someone might think you’re a bitch

 

Sometimes my mouth has to chase my voice out the gate and

it’s usually too late but, hey, at least I speak up for myself these days

At least I speak at all

I’ll take it and so will you, or

you’ll call me a Bitch again and walk away

 

It isn’t as bad as it sounds, but this voice lives in a female body and that female body lives in a society that gives the power and privilege to white men. Privilege is something that is invisible to everyone who has it until the underprivileged (read:oppressed) take the burden upon themselves to educate and enlighten the White Man who, hopefully, is kind and empathetic and will be willing to open comfortably shut eyes and see something that is very ugly: oppression.

 

Usually, though, they call you a Bitch.

Or they make comments about how ‘angry’ you are,

or how you dress slutty,

but don’t wash your hair often enough,

how slutty you are

but you never slept with me? 🙁

how you should probably wear a bra

or shave your armpits,

or they look really confused, ask

are you saying you want to start a chick band?

after you point out that they shut you down

every time you try to contribute to the song

and there goes your voice

right out the gate, mouth closing behind it

but far too late

there fall your tears

each of them carrying a year of frustration on their watery shoulders

and no one hears the voice behind the tears

tears are for weak people and girls

and if you wanna play with the boys

then act like one

 

maybe I could, I think, if only-

if the world could act like I was a boy

I could make money

a dollar of a dollar!

I could walk down the street without being yelled at, and

no one would tell me to smile

people, all people, not just magical feminist people

would listen to my ideas

hear my point of view

think my art was legitimate, and

not a totally separate genre because of the estrogen-tinged vocal chords

I bring to the stage

I could be a second tenor, beautiful and free

there’d be so much less ruhypnol in my beer

more conversation, less unsolicited touching

I’d be lauded for my promiscuity, not shamed

no one saying ‘you’d be so pretty if..’

my anger righteous, natural even

my voice heard, my mouth no longer

trying to chase it out the gate, stop it by the shoulder, saying

‘keep your thoughts to yourself, ma–

someone might think you’re a bitch.’

no longer

no longer no longer

no

more

shit

if I were a boy,

a tenor.

 

 

———————

 

I’d like to take a moment to remind you (all of you) that you have a right to speak, to open a dialogue about anything that makes you uncomfortable or scared or pissed off. You are allowed to scream. You are allowed to cry. You are not allowed to give up. You are allowed to take a nap for awhile and then get back to it, though.

 

Sexism hurts everybody. Ignorance of this hurts more. Stop hurting yourself. Stop hurting your friends. Speak. Listen. In any order or all at once.

 

 

 

other news: I have a few shows coming up that I am really fucking excited about.

 

May 24th @ Circle A Cafe solo sets with Gren Ville (Susan Howe) ‘in the round’ as DITCHLILLIES

June 4th @ The Jazz Estate (full! band!) with New Boyz Club and Jordin Baas

June 11-14th @ Steel Bridge Songfest

 

 

shit, I need to rehearse.

Now.

xoxo,

-Sugar