So let me get this straight:
So long as I am docile,
pretty as a picture and servile
I am a good woman.
So long as my hair is feminine,
and my eyes shine with charm,
my arms are always ready and open,
and my tone is gentle and calm,
I am a good woman.
So long as I am funny, entertaining
and discreet, don’t argue with you,
and place my intelligence at your feet
I am a good woman.
And would make any good man
replete!
Well, I shall never burn my bra
in protest.
I can promise you this!
But I am not that caricature:
My panties don’t read “hers and his.”
Well, my lips can move a mile a minute,
and make sense at the end!
So, why should my opinions be kept quiet
and happiness, I pretend?
Since my love is not measured
by my eyes or style of hair
why should so much emphasis
ever deserve to be placed there?
Finally, in tribute to Miss Maya Angelou,
Mrs. Catherine Cookson and the rest
I firmly intend to break all stereotypes
and put manhood to the test!
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