F.

The intimacy of moss under our feet.

Our time together, a rustic bottle of wine,

So sweet and fruitful and warming.

For every moment shared with other girls

Gushing with giggles and timeless chatter,

Makes up for forty men I pass by. 

Giving not one a glance in their direction.

I could never dream to be a man.

With chest hair and annoying grunts.

Never knowing such wonders of

Looking at yourself in the mirror,

As your wear the color yellow,

In awe of your own dazzlement twirling around in the atmosphere. 

My expectations of my achievements

Would only be half as long

If I were a man. 

Others may find this a woe,

Knowing how much farther I would be, 

In every part of my life,

If it were a man’s to breathe in. 

It's all in the way you view it.

I adore I can only achieve higher, work harder.

Even existing in those dreadful few days every month. 

I don't like to trust the male species. 

I find it intolerable over time to give myself to them.

The word “man” brings staggering conflict,

My mind, turned off by men 

My body, turned on by them.

What lives between Venus and Mars is Earth.

A whole planet's length sits between a woman and man. 

Probably why it's complicated to understand one another. 

I am gladly fine to never know their anger. 

While I stay living among women who love to discuss

And fixate on the beautiful details. 

“Bitching” about what we deem should be common sense 

Of a concept that would never enter the man’s consciousness.

A technicolor vision reminds me the joys of my femininity.

Just by opening my vanity drawer

And finding my inanimate companions who pamper me

Greeting with cheers and high pitch noises 

All to support me as I meticulously pick at my skin,

Stroke my golden hair eternally,

Correcting something rough to pristine perfection.

Alone in my jubilant tears,

I fall in love every day.