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The False Bondage of the Spirit

I don't want to hear any more spoken word poetry or music
or read any more fiction or nonfiction about how
women are strong and powerful and fantastic,
and they are on fire and in tune and biologically orgasmic,
and they are pulled into the rhythm of nature
in a way that men are not,
they are wildly devoted to the lunar tides
and trees and the earth and the goddamned oceans
or rivers or rain or whathaveyou water-wise,
and they don't fit with men because women are different animals,
or they do fit with men because they said it was so,
and they care more and know more and have passionate energy –
oh god, the passion, sparks flying from their fingertips –
and they feel like they have to do everything because the magazines say so,
and it's better for everyone if they follow the dictates of their nature
because of the innate and age-old wisdom borne by their vaginas,
and they are not free because they are free spirits bound by men,
who are not free spirits,
and they are the ones who must make better futures for the children,
the perfect and decontextualized children,
because women's politics are, by nature, nurture.

This insistence that the truth is in my flesh,
that my spirit and some precious sense of essential value be bound to my body,
to my cultural biology, to my genitals, to my ability to procreate,
when most of the females alive are not even capable of doing so,
is no different than a magazine's insistence that
if I were only to wear the right mascara I could get what I want.
I am not wiser, more powerful and fantastic,
rhythmic and devoted and biologically orgasmic,
superior, inferior, sparks flying passionate
than another person with visibly different errogenous zones,
although I am still capable of all of those things.

Biological imperialism has nothing to do with freedom.

The false bondage of the spirit
to a limited and fleeting biological inheritance
is a thief of love.
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