The Privilege And The Grimace

I have a privilege to

Use my vigour

To champion myself

Or to pretend am one.

I have a privilege to

Decide what I do

To think I shouldn't

To regret what I didn't

I have a privilege to

Loud laughs and cries

To being bold or being shy

Often coming up with

Hows, whats, wheres and whys

I have a privilege to

Demand what I need

To state when I don't

Followed by no explanation

Following a full stop.

I have a privilege to

Dream high or rather low

To stand against what's unfair

To let the others grow

But,

A mile from here

A place I have never been

Neither I would want to.

Lives a woman.

Has a name of no consequence.

Might be in her 20's

But with the only fire,

Where she cooks,

Burning welly of her own words.

Often Boiling her rage

In the food she makes

Serving those to everyone

Before a whit she takes.

Chewing them latter

Like her desires and outbursts.

The night is her terror

Of ghastly fissures

Where she hardly begs.

Manhood danced on her head all noon

Now it's between her legs.

Shoving its power

Against her will,

Leaving her bare and stock-still

In her stance of death,

Whither she slumbers,

In the grimace of

Her being a woman.

The tears in her eyes

Have evaporated in

The heat of her own pain

She knows it of no rape.

It's her man !! My unprivileged side now

Is at a conceded peace.

Far apart from her

My privilege of being a woman

Has her, in my thoughts.

Failing itself terribly and constantly,

Having her in this battle.

A battle, forseen and already lost.