Release Your Inner Femmonster

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And ignores outdated opinions of what a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.

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