With an iron fist, she faced her merciless masters
Demanding her life of their hands
Redeeming her spirit from their wrists
And conquering her fears before their faces
With the will of a lion, she took the chains off her neck
Unlocked the keys that held her bound
Spoke to her heels and fled to safety
To settle as the first of little brides
She grew into a woman in the blink of an eye
And not just any woman, but one already in menopause
Yet who said menopause couldn’t be as beautiful as puberty?
Or that the latter couldn’t last forever?
So in the cinema, other women stare at her
The feminist, the masculine women and the young girls
Poets and playwrights have told her stories
Capturing it with both angelic and hellish words
But permit me to sing her praises still
For who washes her dirty panties in the open?
When her behind is uncovered and mocked
By the very viewers who pick the movies.