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
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
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
Those we love beyond OUR own balls.
We are WOMAN! WE have balls!
And then they heal.