Phoolan Devi Kollektiv - a poem for men

privilege is simple

going for a pleasant stroll after dark,
not checking the back of your car as you get in,
sleeping soundly,
speaking without interruption,
and not remembering dreams of rape that follow you all day,
that wake you up crying,
and privilege is riding your bicycle trough town without being screamed at or run off the road,
not needing an abortion,
taking off your shirt on a hot day in a crowd,
not wishing you could type better just in case -
not shaving your legs,
having a good job and expecting to keep it,
not feeling the boss`s hand up your crotch,
dozing off on late-night buses,
privilege is being the hero in the tv show, not the dumb broad,
knowing your doctor won`t rape you.
it`s simple, really, privilege means someone else`s pain,
your wealth is my terror,
your uniform is a woman raped to death here or in  cambodia,
or wherever your obscene privilege writes your name in blood,
it`s that simple, you`ve always had it,
that`s why it doesn`t seem to make you sick at the stomach,
you have it,
we pay for it,
now...

*struggle*


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