A woman's dilemma--a non poem written yesterday in frustration.

Many people, especially male ones, often ask feminists the question "What rights do men have that women don't?"  Technically, from a purely legalistic standpoint, the answer is none. Societal expectations, however, are often not codified in law, and I can think of a glaring example that's been troubling me a lot recently. It goes something like this: "You've got to give him a chance."

In my roughly 25 years of dating as a straight gal, I have never once been "given a chance" by a crush who didn't immediately find me physically attractive.  My elders and betters always considered this to be normal, repeatedly lecturing me about how I couldn't expect men to change their feelings, couldn't force them to love me if they didn't, and generally considering me unreasonable if I ever, even in the throes of acute rejection grief, questioned the judgment or character of someone who'd cast me aside.  Those first two bits of advice are, of course, perfectly sound. 

However, I'm not a woman ENTIRELY devoid of feminine charms, and once in a while, a man comes along who wants something to do with me.  Obviously, I don't always return his interest, and if one goes by the guidelines in our last paragraph, that would seem to be fine.  Right?  Wrong! While a man's decision-making ability is never called into question when he rejects me, if I EVER say no to anyone, regardless of the laundry list of legitimate reasons I usually have for doing so, I'm clearly a fool who never has any room to complain about her loneliness.   When I turn a man down, or, heaven forbid, tell one of my sensible friends or relatives what he did that made my skin crawl, the exact same people declare that I'm being too picky and judgmental and I should--you guessed it--give him a "chance."   (I should say, for the record, that I realize all these people are well meaning, but it gets frustrating to hear this lecture repeatedly even if the speaker is legitimately interested in my welfare.)  Even if the guy is someone I've known and tried to be friends with for years, they seem to think that this magical "chance" will raise my opinion of a potential suitor after its gradual slide into the Marianas trench over the course of a decade.  So that leaves me wondering, when guys want a "chance," what, exactly does that entail?

Is a "chance" a formal date?  That seems highly likely to make the awkwardness worse, especially since it would almost surely be followed by pressure for unwanted physical contact.  After all, he did buy dinner, because he absolutely insisted in spite of my begging to split the check.  Not that this has ever happened to me or anything. 

Speaking of unwanted physical contact, might a "chance" refer to letting him kiss me?  Feel me up?  Have sex with me as I squirm and cry?  Given that men are frequently indignant about being "friendzoned," or whatever the devil the children call it these days, it would seem that what they're really asking for is a chance at sexual access.

In my opinion, if he truly wants a chance at a relationship, accepting a man as a friend and spending time with him or around him IS giving him exactly that.  If I'm wrong about this, then what, precisely, does it mean?  What would my advisors have me do, and why isn't my crush obligated by these unspoken laws of decent human society to do the same for me?  It doesn't seem reasonable to pressure a woman to withhold judgement on whether she wants someone to screw her until after she's already let him do it, especially since many of the same double standard bearers would also slut-shame her for actually getting down with every last guy who wanted her to.   I'll feel equal to a man when either: a) men have a similar dilemma or b) I get to select my own mate without people treating me like an idiot and demanding at once that I be confident, but never turn anyone down but also not be a slut.   Just let me know how that's coming.  

Terrible Nat King Cole knock-off that was supposed to be funny...

I'm forgettable, both day and night. 
When you guess my name, you're never right.  
With her look of love concealing me, 
it's no wonder you're not feeling me. 
Just like before,
You're closing the door.

I'm forgettable in every way, 
and forevermore that's how I'll stay.
Oh, my darling, you're not credible,
so I'll eat all that is edible,
'Til I find that you're forgettable, too.  

As You Were

Don't try to change a man.
That's what they say.  
Never expect it.  That won't be the way.  

But, guess who did?
Looks like you did. 
 
Just what you were
could not tempt her
to stay.

Backchannels have been blocked,
safe rooms collapsed. 
Evacuation is the cure, perhaps.

Where could I go?
No place I know. 

In seconds an
eternity
elapsed. 

Hints of you, they glimmer.
For a moment I can smile. 
Then, the shadow fills in
all the flaws that
catch the light. 
Unfamiliar eyes are
staring back from the canals. 
My home is not here. It
was dismantled
in the night. 

You didn't need saving.
You weren't a sin.
You solved the riddle, just as you were then.

Who has this right?
I think I might,

but you're gone.  It's
too late to ask
again. 
 

Writer's Block

The three-ring political circus unfolding around me was inspiring for a brief moment, but it's become so overwhelming that I have almost no idea what to say about it anymore.  I'm proud of my fellow citizens, those who try to stand up for what's right, but feel increasingly terrified and helpless as the new government continues to ignore the will of the people and becomes more brazen in its attack on our democracy with every passing day.  In a place where my elected representatives, chosen by others in spite of my own votes to the contrary, respond to my appeals with lies and assurances that they have no intention of changing, what must I do?  Shall I leave my job and go to join the protests?  Or would it be better to save all the resources I can for my family before my parents lose their pensions and Medicare?Who and what do I prioritize when I see signs of absolutely everything starting to crumble around me?  Perhaps there is poetry in this madness, but there's so much dark imagery that I don't know where to begin. Perhaps the events of the past week are simply too cliche, too stereotypical of a storybook totalitarian dystopia to evoke a novel response.  If I dare try, how long until they come for me, too?  Everything is progressing more quickly than even a confirmed old pessimist could have imagined.  I can't say there's been no response to the public backlash, but all I see is the executive branch repeatedly taking a mile and then giving back an inch(if that).  Add it up, and we're still rolling backward at an alarming speed; and we're not done accelerating yet.  Keep fighting, and I'll try to keep writing if I can ever process everything.  If you have any ideas for me, I'm all ears.  For now, I'm going to bed because I feel like my skull is being crushed in a vise.