Ohhh they don’t like Jane

      Soooo a while back, Cat Marnell over at xoJane wrote this ill-advised piece on Plan B and a total feminist flame war erupted over it and people were piling on about how irresponsible and stupid Cat was/is and everyone in those feminist journalism/blogosphere circles has already beaten this issue to death. I however, have not because I’m new. Anyway, the issue here isn’t Cat’s post but rather the fact that I love Jane. I loved Sassy magazine. Sue me (Don’t really sue me though, because I don’t have anything, at all, and you’d be wasting your time and money for nothing, at all). Anyhow, so I love Jane. Right. Yes and Cat Marnell gets under my skin and I sometimes dislike her writing but, feel jealous at the same time. Maybe that’s why I dislike her so much. Maybe it’s less that I dislike what she says, and more that I'm envious that she’s able to say it, that I find myself so conflicted about Cat. Maybe I wish I could do the same, and get paid for it or maybe I think she’s an entitled ditz and it bothers me that people might take her seriously. I just don’t know.  UGH! Kills me.

If you don't mind, leave...

Vaya


Who are you to tell our girls
To leave home
Unmarried, to not baby
Our men, to not feed our families,
To have ideas and thoughts
Of not having children, of being
Individuals and finding out
Who they are?
Because leaving is not for you.
Leaving,
Is for runaways and dads

Who are you to dream
Of leaving, when there is family
And they need you
To wash their socks
And scrub their dirty minds
Clean of the scent of you,
Your chubby child’s legs,
The sweetness
They will pluck from you
Don't you know?

And if you leave,
You might tell, you might talk
Like they talk but tell nothing
And no one, but the women
Where their place is
And what kind of pain they have caused them
What kind of happiness
They have cost them.
It is more than they can afford

You're no runaway
It's too dangerous,
Someone might hurt you.
Did we not teach you
That you don't know your name?
You don't have one
Unless it's given to you.
Like permission, to speak
This is not allowed

And we have heard enough
We are older, we are wiser
And accepted our role
Fulfilled the dreams of our fathers
Protected their honour and sacrificed
Our truths. We did that for you
But you, take that tone
Where is your shame
That we nurtured so well,
Our gift to pass down?
Maybe it's better, if you go.

Thursday, March 31, 2011