Courage is not a man

with a gun in his hand.

You have to fight. You have to see it through.

You don’t often win, but, sometimes you do.

“The pen is mightier than the sword”

the ink spills out my anger, word for word.

Catharsis for the soul, for a moment I’m whole

Then the triggers come back, they

Attack! Attack! Attack!

I pull my body in tight, thoughts in my head fight;

What should I do? What is good? What is right?

How can I be heard, from this empty universe, my tiny little voice?

A squeak up to the heavens, my body drowning in the void.

Why didn’t I report: fear, retribution, shame, trauma, disbelief

Why I did report: anger, justice, hope, change, PTSD

For all I lay bare my scars, my shame, my secrets.

I do it to be better, to help, to be a part of this female testament.

I am on display, but I am Courage, with nowhere to hide

You are Cowardice, a shrewd and disgusting vision, covered in lies.

The perfect lip

is over-lined just a bit.

The lipstick shines,

it flirts, it hints.

The glitter sparkles and glints.

She wears it with confidence,

she struts and sways her hips.

The boys take notice,

but only the men really get it.

That’s all she wears,

the rest of her face left bare.

Her skin like porcelain,

dressed head-to-toe in Hood By Air.

Walking casually down the street,

walking to her headphone’s beat.

Double-takes, dogs in heat.

Ignore the catcalls, no stress, don’t freak.

She stands unshaken, defiant.

The pavement sizzles, she towers, giant.

This is her runway, stomp it out, vibrant.

No pushing and shoving, stop hating, stop tryin’.

“DSL” they call them,

“What’s that? You’re internet?”

She licks them snidely, real wet.

And it’s what comes out of them you won’t so easily forget.

Words of thunder, heavy with conviction.
Her passionate argument - your new addiction.

You play Devil’s Advocate to arouse her to contradict them.

You derive joy from getting her permission.

Lips spin tricks, show wit, fight grit
get bit, talk shit, kiss kiss, get on with it.

Commodify all you want, you’ll soon regret

silencing the voice from which you worship.

In Honor of Dr. Ford

HBA and Mouthy - A Poem