Less of a Woman

I can’t cook
And if I could
I wouldn’t

Does that make me
less of a woman?

I can’t knit
fancy outfits for
newborn babies
I can’t shit
rainbows like
magical unicorns

I can’t follow the
make up tutorials
on YouTube
I don’t shave
my precious pussy

Does that make me
less of a woman?

I can’t teeter around
in heels
I don’t squeeze myself
into sexist ideals

I can’t think
cos I’m psychotic
I can’t scream
cos my mouth is
silenced with the
adjectives of misogyny

Does that make me
less of a woman?

I can’t bear child
cos I’m ‘too old’
I can’t menstruate
cos I’m ‘too old’

I can’t wear bikinis
cos I’m ‘too old’
I can’t masturbate
cos I’m ‘too old’

Does that make me
less of a woman?

I can do what I want
when I fucking want
I can fuck who I want
when I fucking want
I can be who I want
when I fucking want

Does that make me
less of a woman?

©2020 Sarah Drury

Suckle

I was thinking about how wonderful breasts are. They nurture babies, look great on our chests, are soft and yielding to touch, take us back to our childhoods. They are a symbol of power, a symbol of comfort, a symbol of motherhood. They are fantastic!

Suckle

Come suckle
At my breasts
Feast upon
Tender nipples
That once beguiled
My hungry baby’s
Rosebud lips
My breasts
That once
Had aspirations
To feed
One of a nation
But my barren breasts
No milk would yield

Come suckle
At my breasts
Behold the
Soft, sweet flesh
That kneads like
Sweet, warm playdough
In a toddler’s palm
Tell me that
They possess
enchantment
Devour me slowly
Ease me, tease me
Free me
From my
Mortal shackles
Dulcify the stress
Release
Angelic devilry

Come suckle
At my breasts
Behold how fucking
Great that women
Have these awesome
Symbols of matriarchy
Women envied by
The ravages
Of patriarchy
Sexualised and
Victims of misogyny
Now standing proud
And rising up
The hierarchy

But what straight guy
Doesn’t want
To nestle in
A bosom tender
Inhaling sweet beJesus
Virgin Mary
Tends his
Comfort moments
Render
Memories
Wishing perchance
To slumber
Cossetted
Like babes
Nostalgic
Suckling at
Their mother’s breast
In blissful
Reverie

© 2020 Sarah Drury

Muriel

A character based on many women i have met during my stays in psychiatric hospitals…

Muriel

Beyond her twenty years
She looked
With her duvet of fiery red curls
Coiling like delinquent serpents
On a Medusa inspired scalp
An artist could not etch so finely
The lines which lay as an insult
Upon a face which had weathered Hell
Eyes dancing like a ballerina
In a shit-filled pigsty
And she’s clutching a map full of no destinations
But she knows where she’s going
And there ain’t no angels
Strumming wistful tunes on golden harps

Big bones brawled beneath
Criss cross flesh
With the sorry scars of harming self
The sorry scars of hating self
The sorry scars of berating self
Pain fuelled tram lines
Hurtling to Hell
And she’s clutching a fist full of Disneyland dreams
But she knows where she’s going
And there ain’t no wise St Peter
Heralding her arrival at the pearly gates

A blank canvas once
Though now an impressionist’s masterpiece
With the purple hues
And the green and blue clues
And the red in slews of how’s yer father
Punctured pathology
Peddling pinpricks
Parading pangs of predilection
And she’s clutching a dream full of fairytale fantasies
But she knows where she’s going
And a utopian Jesus ain’t there
With his meek open arms and his forgiveness smiles

Eyes flecked with flashing blue
Sparkling in dreams
But in waking, like warm, flat champagne
Her mind mocking
At every heart-choked twist of fate
Nothing that
A puff of weed
A snort of coke
Best friend, the needle
Wouldn’t pleasantly anaesthetise
And she’s clutching a dream of a kilo of weed
But she knows where she’s going
And it ain’t no fluffy clouded heaven

And she’s clutching a dream of a better life
But she knows where she’s going
And it ain’t home

©2020 Sarah Drury

Don’t Call Me Baby

Hey you
With your misogynist mouth
And your sexist salubrious sarcasm

Call me sassy
Call me badass
Call me spunky
Call me gutsy
But DON’T call me baby!

Hey you
With your miniscule dick on fire
and your brain in your balls

Call me fearless
Call me feisty
Call me brave
Call me powerful
But DON’T call me baby!

Hey you
With your ‘I am master’ fallacy
Buying tits and asses fantasies

Call me strong
Call me equal
Call me curious
Call me bold
But DON’T call me baby!

Hey you
Tossing dollars at the hookers
Fucks are cheap, women disposable

Call me competent
Call me smart
Call me interesting
Call me determined
But DON’T call me baby!

Hey you
With your lamborgini carriage
Cos your dick’s so fucking non existent

Cal me assertive
Call me confident
Call me positive
Call me successful
But DON’T call me baby

Hey you
With your patronising passport
To a world in which we’re second

Call me a woman
Call me an equal

But DON’T call me baby!

©2020 Sarah Drury