I was once the fearful fret
Who learned, not courage,
But regret
And so got caught,
Tangled, in the net
Of a thing considered wise:
The living fear of men.
So rampant was this revere,
Of this plague,
This crippling fear,
That many encouraged it
In females of any year
Proclaiming that purity
Was the fruit of the fear of men.
Rules and standards ruled the hearts
Of multitudes of women
Told to “be smart”.
As though intelligence
Was the equivalent part
Of a cowardice:
The ever-present fear of men.
There were no stories of self-defense
There were no heros
Who spoke of consent
There was no hope
For male friends;
Women were all equally helpless
And shared a fear of men.
I am happy to point out
This is written
To tell about
Something quite past tense,
Something I presently live without
Because Christ never said
To live in fear of men.