Perils of the Patriarchy

Piercing with your sword of hate,

You penetrate and poison,

The purity of humanity,

The love of the Mother,

The innocence of the sweet child,

Tearing away the right to feel safe,

Accepted,

Adored,

Inside our very own being,

Bodies,

Even our homes.

You judge, criticize, compare,

Contorting the essence of womanhood,

Which lies hidden within,

Not worn as adornments,

Bouncing Baywatch-style breast implants,

Perfectly polished, plastic nails,

Prettily puckered, plumped,

And pumped lips,

Laden with lead,

Toxic, chemically coiffed hair,

Or heels that steal,

our barefoot connection,

With Her - the Earth.

You poke, tweak,

Fuck and leave,

Calling it sex,

But we’re never impressed,

Our bodies empty of pleasure as,

Your balls of cum, when,

You’ve wastefully exploded your,

Precious,

Life-giving sperm,

Onto our tits,

Grinning with cunning,

Calling it fun.

How my heart breaks,

For your delusion,

The persuasiveness of porn,

And the empty lives it pervades,

Devoid of deep, intimate connection

Of sensual touch,

And eyes locking into gaze,

Connecting souls across dimensions,

Bodies flowering,

Opening to oceans of pure, pure pleasure,

And union, as tantric centres awaken,

Entwining into a vine of sacred love and,

deliciously, deliciously sweet satisfaction.

The Priestess knows,

Deep in her soul,

She remembers the time,

When men were not wankers,

When they entered the Temple,

For initiation into the art of sensuality,

No late night XXX channel,

The mess, mopped up with Kleenex,

But rather,

A ceremonial ritual,

To bless and give thanks for the,

Divine Elixir expressed.

She knows this isn’t the way,

T & A spread all about town,

Protruding from micro-dresses,

Plastered on billboards,

Flashing on screens,

Naked in strip clubs,

Advertising everything from,

Cars to Baked Beans,

How did we allow ourselves,

To be so defiled,

Where did we step down,

From our throne,

Chuck away our crown,

And accept,

Instead of being worshipped,

To be reviled?

We gave them the weapon,

We denounced our power,

Blaming them won’t help,

Silently they’ll call you a cunt,

Because they’re bitter, angry,

Lost and afraid,,

These warriors know they have nothing,

More to fight for,

The Queen has left the building,

So what’s the point in winning,

There’s no reward in returning,

Home from battle,

To the arms of a woman,

Devastated by self-hatred,

She has nothing to give,

Her river run dry,

Her heart shrivelled in fear,

Of not being ______ ,

(Fill in the blank) enough,

Her time spent,

Desperately scouring,

The celeb mags and sites,

To find the One,

Diet,

Dress,

Hairstyle,

Butt-lift, eyebrow tweeze,

Nip or tuck,

That will make her feel good again.

Just like the boy,

Whose Mother,

Rejects,

And neglects,

Deep down,

The anger swells,

The pain of failing to find the,

Presence in connection,

With another,

Turns to poison,

Which must,

Be purged.

But men don’t turn this,

In on themselves,

Like us women,

Oh no,

They have a divining rod,

Rather than a receptacle,

An arrow to fire,

A dagger to insert,

A gun to shoot,

A missile to aim,

At target unknown.

Bitch

Mother

Sister

Slapper

Vixen

Virgin

Wife

Whore

Does it really matter?

As long as it has real,

T & A and isn’t a,

Masquerading Ladyboy.

The point is,

Aim for the Vagina,

With the venomous blade,

To direct,

And conquer,

To release,

And unleash,

All the pent up rage,

At no longer having a Queen,

To stand strong for,

To serve,

To be sure of.

Externalised this,

Transmutes into,

The raw agony of a Mother,

Hearing her Husband,

Fucking her under age daughter,

The weeping Virgin sold as Bride,

To a deviant Middle Aged man,

The cute Chica from the club,

Whose consent was compromised,

The minute He gave her Ketamine,

Waking the next day,

Wondering why she’s so sore?

The Pretty Princess,

Deluded by Disney,

To be polite,

And silently wait,

For the Prince,

To rescue her,

From the Big Bad Dragon,

Or wake her from the,

Thousand year sleep,

Giving her life,

As if she’s incapable,

Of surviving,

Without Him.

The Lady,

Sprinting from the terror,

Of the man’s footsteps,

That follow her,

Down the dark alley,

Or the woman who,

Lies awake at night,

Waiting,

For the drunken assault,

That’s going to rearrange,

Her furniture,

Or face.

The yogi devoted to her Swami,

Until his fingers force their way,

Into her Lululemon pants,

While she’s in,

Downward Facing Dog,

Freezing with fear,

And uncertainty,

As he says,

Just surrender,

To my healing hands.

The innocent girl,

Seeking stardom,

Forced to secure her role,

Not with talent,

But an uncomfortable night,

On the Casting Couch,

Contorting her principles,

With a Hollyweird Producer,

Claiming first dibs,

As he gifts her a place,

Not on the Oscar nominees list,

But the swelling ranks of,

The #MeToo movement.

The Mother who blindly,

Follows Him,

Praying as she,

Places her kids innocently,

Into the sticky-fingered paws,

of Popes and Priests,

Unaware of the perils,

And perversions,

They’ll endure at the,

Hands of these,

Ahem ….

Holy Men.

Others tout the benefits of polyamory,

A paradigm for the New Earth,

They claim,

But isn’t it just boys,

Acting out their wounding,

And the unmet desire for attention,

Of a child,

Who failed to receive,

From their avoidant,

Alcoholic,

Absent,

Or abusive parent?

My friends,

What kind of world,

Are we co-creating here?

Where you prick away at,

Our safety,

Our right to belong,

In a world of loving kindness,

Yet truly,

I fear,

Your pain,

Is worse than ours.

Because, inside you know,

You toppled her,

You killed the Queen,

You chose to murder the Mother,

For your own convenience,

A moment of peace,

A position of power,

To rule the kingdom your way,

To have us follow,

Yet, you have failed.

It takes two to Tango,

One man dancing alone,

Swinging his dick,

Like a Disco Queen,

Ain’t romantic,

Or sexy, either,

Devoid of a woman’s passion,

Electricity

Fire,

Creativity

Sensuality and

Wild abandon.

Endless emotion,

Sweetness,

Softness,

Connection,

Explosive desire,

And, most obviously

Heart,

No-one wants to dance alone,

Yet, you’ve made it so,

Forcing us to abandon you,

So, now you’re waltzing solo.

And, what a mess you’re making,

Two steps when it should be one,

You’re limp,

When you need to be strong,

Your pace is pathetic,

Rather than poetic,

The music plays,

But it no longer moves you,

The strings scream at your heart,

Yet, the response is silence,

Sealed shut to emotion,

Like the lid of an ancient tomb.

Stuck in this darkness, we weep,

Mind, body, heart and soul,

Desperately praying for a Saviour,

To come,

God, Jesus, Allah, anyone?

Someone who will rescue us from this,

Yet they are all men,

Where, oh where is the Goddess?

Chastised,

Buried,

Forgotten.

Yet, we need her alive,

In the wombs of our sisters,

She lurks,

As a fox burrowed in its lair,

Waiting,

For What?

Now,

The time has come,

We cannot allow,

This anymore,

Not on our watch.

The hands of History,

Are quickly,

Changing direction,

Us and them,

No longer works,

Her story is needed,

It’s time to turn,

Me on its head,

So it becomes We,

Are in this together,

Called, loudly…

To unite,

Heal this pain,

His and Hers,

So that together,

We can co-create,

a Safer World.

By Gemini Adams, Copyright 2018