I was once told I wasn’t “worthy” of being called a bitch, meant as a compliment, as if sparing me the word was an act of respect.
I disagree. Comedian Iliza Shlesinger argues that no woman wants to be a bitch; it’s what happens when society doesn’t listen. She’s right. And this poem is my argument for why the word isn’t an insult to dodge, it’s what we become when we heal enough to stop performing.
No woman is born into her Bitch
she is forged in the furnace of slight,
hammered on the anvil of “be light,”
till the soul that was sky-bright
grows iron in the red of night.
The angels of meekness take flight;
the tigers of wrath burn bright.
In the Garden of Nice we are taught the rite:
smile soft, speak slight,
let the man hold the lantern
he claims the whole light.
But the tree at the center
bears fruit of our fight;
its name is No,
its taste is Right.
Who eats it is cast from the pleasant site
labelled Bitch,
branded Fright.
No girl does Halloween in bitch-costume;
she dances the sun, the star, the bloom.
But the loom of law weaves narrower room,
cuts the cloth of her soul to consume.
She wakes one dawn to a sealing doom,
the word Bitch hissed in every gloom.
Yet note! in every female hand
that ever scratched a lover’s tan
there sleeps a hammer, not a fan;
there burns a forge, not merely wan.
When the hammer rises, bitches begin;
the bitches of wrath, the bitches of sin,
but the sin is theirs who forged the pin
that held the door she must not win.
So I will not pray to be mild and bright;
I will not kneel in the cotton-light.
I will walk the forge in the furnace night,
till the iron of Bitch is beaten to Right.
And the bitch of a woman, burning bright,
shall walk the forests of the night.
Though the bitch roams, terrible and bright,
every soul still hungers for the Woman inside
to drink her mercy, to steal her tide,
to fuck her, be her, bear her for bride.
They would chain the moon to possess her side,
yet the moon keeps her secret, balancing pride.
Try the musical version too!
That’s all from me, your turn to ask what if.
This is how they divide us. It’s not theirs to give. It’s earned. “The bitch” is a tribute to that camaraderie! A united front of healed women! 🫡
This is why we are friends. I like this about you. I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas.