Balls Of Steel

I feel the need to justify this piece.

I don’t hate men. Far from it. There are quite a few I’d like to show my appreciation of. In my dreams!

But. I have a sister – two actually- and one of them has just had a kick in the balls by someone who calls himself a man. I KNOW not all men are like this.

 

OUR balls are made of steel.

WE keep them hidden inside,

Unaffected by temperature and treason.

Governed by reason.

And humungous quantities of love.

OUR balls allow hands-free penalties

And rarely swing with abandonment

Even while YOU think irrationally of

OUR reasoning

That broods on permutations

And shelters our most vulnerable parts

With drops of tears.

 

OUR tender parts need hiding from

The world of hurt we feel.

They need to rise and feed

The children, pack their lunch

And send them off with cheer and change

In pockets

That are not meddled with by hands

Fumbling for satisfaction in the moment.

 

OUR balls are mostly resistant to immediate gratification,

Tell YOU to ‘get them right roon ye’

When threat of compromise

Compromises

Those we love beyond OUR own balls.

We are WOMAN! WE have balls!

They hurt.

And then they heal.

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