I want to be feminine in the way that
The Sphinx is feminine
Or Baphomet, or Dionysus.
Dangerously Feminine.
Threateningly Feminine.
The kind of feminine that breaks norms
And ignores outdated opinions of what a
Body should look like or shroud themselves in.
I want to be the type of feminine that people
Tell tales about to scare little kids away from
Hot Topic and Tumblr.
“Beware the ones with the wild-colored hair
They come at night, trapping you in their
Fishnets and stabbing you with eyeliner
Sharper than any sword”
I want to be the type of feminine that grinds all those
“cover up” comments into the powder of their foundation.
I want to be feminine like fish scales and horse tails
Like chalcedony and lemon cakes
Like chopping wood in Demonias.
I want to be so terrifyingly feminine that no one
Ever touches me without permission again.
That my very visage is a warning,
like a poison dart frog or
Mountain Dew.
Feminine like the local cryptid,
Indescribably alluring,
A whisper in the trees calling you closer
A shiny coin at the bottom of a mountain stream.
Feminine like broken stained glass at the foot of an altar.
Feminine like a proclamation of war.
I want femininity to be a choice
Not a default setting to be assigned.
A standard of being that demands respect.
That takes up space.
That refuses to kneecap its sentences just to
Make room for others’ egos.
Whoever decided liking sparkles and pink and
expressing emotions meant I can’t
Fend for myself,
I just want to talk.
Never mind the fishnets and eyeliner,
I just want to show you
What I mean when I say
Femme fatale.
Kylie Jorgensen
Kylie Jorgensen holds a BA in Writing and has been published in Portage Magazine and Bramble Literary Magazine. Kylie writes poetry and creative non-fiction, capturing the snarky, raw, and sometimes beautiful bits of humanity throughout their work. They live in central Wisconsin with their chosen family and far too many plants.
Portage Magazine 