A poem for those who have been told they are too intense.
I’m the passionate one.
The one who won’t relax
And trust The Men
Like a good lady.
The one who lights kindling
and builds strong fires.
The one who will tell you
everything that’s wrong
with our systems
as I tremble with passion.
The one who will not sit
quietly at the table.
I’m the one who will interrupt
The Men
After too much debate
and tell them with love and rage
dripping from my teeth
and foam at my mouth
about patriarchy
and the blood women spill on the
bathroom floor
and smear from their thighs,
and scrub from their pants.
I am the one who will
cry in inappropriate places
and smear her mascara
and exhale too loudly
and feel every little bit of rage
that boils in my Chest.
Because I get to.
Because I was born to.
Because I am a Wombin.
Because our system is broken.
And I refuse this consensus trance
That tells me
“Shut up,
Drink coffee,
get shit done and
Make.
Sure.
You.
Smile.”
— Gwenivere Weiss, Guest Poetess & Wild Wanderess. Author of Moon Studies.
Menstrala School 