Girl Things
It’s a girl thing, really.
We hold it inside until we die.
We clench our teeth in that pretty little smile
And nod our heads as we keep on killing
Ourselves.
No, no, you don’t understand.
But, of course, you’re always right.
Of course I’ll be with you tonight.
That’s what I am, after all:
A lowly jack-of-all kitchen appliance
Laced with acid gratification science
And the gift to males of intellectual silence.
A slave to the indifferent Y-chromosome
Pretty little housemaid who cooks, cleans, and stays home.
It’s a girl thing, really.
Our feet ache in our white go-go boots
While we prepare your castle and broccoli shoots.
We close our eyes and watch you die
As we kill you ourselves.
We nod our heads and look pretty for you.
No, no, I couldn’t tell you quite what’s wrong.
But, of course, you could help me get along.
I know exactly what you want from me,
The same thing since the night we were married.
A slave to the indifferent Y-chromosome
Pretty little housemaid who cooks, cleans, and stays home.
No, no, I could never be like you;
It’s not something I could ever do.
.
women are people, too.
.
