‘Man, she’s got balls!’
‘She’s got some real balls!’
‘She’s got bigger balls than he does!’
Etc.
All still deemed great compliments…
Can you believe that?!
Even feminists,
Complimenting each other’s courage,
With reference to each other’s balls…
‘Why don’t Basque women wear mini-skirts?’
My hairy-legged feminist friend asked me…
‘Because then you’d see our balls!’, she said,
Smiling proudly…
Still brainwashed into seeing,
All that empty space,
In their sweet,
Welcoming crotches,
As weak blotches,
Of shame,
Cowardice,
And inferiority…
Where only big balls,
Can truly save the day
– Either physical,
Or rhetorical –
Earning that verbal badge of honor:
‘Damn, she’s got some serious brass balls!’
What in the fuckin’ universe?!
How do you still accept this?
How do you cede these core virtues,
To the patriarchy
And their testes?
You’re winning your equality,
As far as freedom,
And opportunity are concerned…
Yet you forfeit your equality,
As far as strength,
And courage are concerned…
‘Grow a pair!’ you’re told,
And you accept it laughingly,
And nod your heads knowingly…
Why would you accept this so willingly?!
Is it because of balls’ reproductive powers?
You got your own tasty flowers!
Or cause ‘balled’ men
Show more courage
Than the neutered?
Have you never been tutored,
In the wonders of your own uteruses?
Those marvelous, life-birthing universes?
Have you never seen the full birthing process?
I’ve seen it up close,
And I can tell you it ain’t close,
As to which requires more courage:
The squirting balls,
Where even the brief squirt,
Is orgasmically pleasant,
Or the nine-month slow cultivation,
Inching towards a culmination,
Of tearing flesh…
Oceanic bleeding…
And life-threatening,
Pussy-stretching,
Or,
At the very least,
Some serious C-section cutting,
And stitching,
And life-long scarring…
Which body part would you want,
As your protector,
Or general?
Balls that cum and go,
Or,
Best case scenario,
Stick around,
And watch the torture?
Or a uterus that endures it all,
And then comes back for more,
Again,
And again,
At least sometimes…
‘Man, he’s got some uterus!’
Has so much more gravitas,
In my opinion,
And a much-prettier ring,
Than, ‘Man, she’s got some big-ass balls!
Just look at ’em swing!’
Reclaim your bodies,
My dear, sweet feminists!
Relinquish nothing!
You needn’t be men,
Or have our balls,
To achieve anything!
I wouldn’t even want a woman with balls!
I want a woman with some uterus,
As my general,
My president,
My collaborator,
Lover,
Or groupie…
I don’t want your balls on my face!
– I have enough ballls for the both of us,
Believe me! –
I want your uterus on my face!
Or at least her sweet secretions,
Saying hello,
And sending her sweet regards,
From her dark,
Deep,
Courageous,
Innards…
So go on, sweet sisters,
Celebrate your uterus!
Don’t be afraid,
It won’t neuter us!
It’ll just be a bit new to us,
And re-introduce you to us,
With your newly-intimidating uteristic riches…
But you deserve it!
It’ll make you happy!
And no one gives better head,
Than happy bitches!
*For Professor P.
