Inventing Bitch

This poem is not perfect. I wrote it a few years ago on a silly whim of feminist pride in my own fabulous self. I forget what prompted it; the world baring down on me! So here it is. It is both too much and not enough at the same time. Yet, due to the urging of my muse, I am posting it for you all. Enjoy!
ps. This is actually a language poem, as are many of my poems, following in the Beat tradition best exemplified by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I am sorry that blogger does not allow for the breaks, pauses, and artful placement of words and phrases, but I think you can still get the beat, it just isn't as pronounced as it would be on the well punctuated page.

Inventing Bitch

Dedication: For all the (would-be) feminists who understand the joys of beauty, and shamelessly revel in them, unabashedly partaking in one of life's greatest pleasures, beauty.


Bitch
Witch
A very high pitch
A scratch you cant itch
No matter which
Hand you employ
I will toy
Cause I'm coy
No ploy
I have to be
In this world of ours
This world so foul
I am a bitch
Beware
I may growl

You may howl
You may writhe
As I wriggle in delight
As I bask in my bitchiness
And invent this sight
For the world that we live in rewards this might
As it squeezes us all to a pulp, nice and tight
I write
May
Fight
On this subject
Of
Gender

Oh, how you penned her
(and him)
Oh how to mend her…..
I will be Bitch
For my gender
A place to begin
I’m not trying to bend her
I’m not trying to “win”
But be her
See her
The happy lady of the land
And as I try to imagine, like a wand in my hand
Her bitchiness
Bitchessa
La Bitch arrives
She shakes her tail
And into the world she dives
She has only one life, and she will live it well
She will dance
She will prance
The puritans can go to hell
For she is W-O-M-A-N
Capital Construct said D
Who will revel in herself
She may allow you to see
What a beautiful Woman she can truly be
She may be a fox
She may fox trot foxy

She will giggle
May wiggle
As you squiggle of her beauty
You don’t do it justice
Don’t honor it
Just do your “duty”
As you shell her
As you sell her
With your ever gazing eyes
You inhumanely swell her
You turn her into lies

She lives it through
She tries to be herself
But at the end of the day
She is not candy on a shelf
Perfectly wrapped
Waiting to be bought

Nor is she a pupil
Apt to be taught
On the functions of beauty
A gilded statue
Painfully over-wrought

Furthermore,
She won’t cater to your vision
Dressing like a senseless whore
With dyed blonde hair and clothes that wear her
Making her a trashy bore

If she is to bare herself she does it to express
To express the divine creature that she is
Who loves that sexy dress
And the way it makes her feel

As for how you draw her
Bitch will tell you that it smells
She’ll burn it up in anger
She sends it straight to hell
She can see the smoke rise
She must be herself
She is the phoenix from the ashes
She will write it well

But in the meantime, as she stumbles down the yellow brick road
Not quite Dorothy, nor green as the jaded……you know
She lives in/as the construct
Made inside and out
Blow-dried
Waxed
Lips ready to pout
She is bitch
Hear her shout