On the male feminist (a poem)

He is the new weapon

The new version, updated and ready to move in.

He strokes your hair and tells you “you are beautiful without the make-up that patriarchy forces you to wear”

He deems your sexuality unhealthy and wishes to make love to you softly. He ignores that you might WANT IT ROUGH!!

He has never listened to a woman, oh but he knows what’s best for them.

So fuck you male feminist and fuck you nice guy. Do not patronise me, do not think that I do not wish for agency of my own skin. But that is MY agency, one fought for by ME. And it is however I wish for it to be, you cannot tell me which sin to bear and which to toss aside. For I have loved every minute of my sin, of my choices that have filled, me, up with their hot, sticky, love.