Reflections on the War I didn't know that I was Fighting

Feminazi, he asks,
"Why can't you take a joke?"
He laughs, and waits for me to
goose step salute into submission.
I can't help but wonder
if he's right.
The joke, is that women are waging a war
to be women--
Caught somewhere between the world of
paper dolls and blow up dolls.
Always looking like dolls.
Wide eyed and beautiful,
porcelain skin, smooth like silk and
small--
never taking up too much space on the shelves
of men's lives.
Collectible items that cannot be taken from the box.
But then
they collect dust. Become
bitter and brittle
spinsters. Plain women who were never play toys.
The joke is that women are items--
commodified, commercialized,
violent crimes against them justified,
"It isn't rape if you yell surprise!"
The joke is that I used to think that was funny.
Taught that the only way to get a man
was to be a lady--
sweet and poised and pose-able,
giggling at the things that make you uncomfortable.
The joke is that I have stopped giggling,
but I still hear men laughing
all around me.
The joke is that educated, empowered women
should,
according to politicians,
be on the corner or in a binder.
And I'm reminded of the bright pink box and
suffocating cellophane when I realize that
none of these places is an "acceptable" place
for a woman to be.
The joke is that no one can win because
they won't let you.
The joke is that it all boils down to nature--
versus nurture.
And we have been nurtured to hate women so much
that when I finally learn to stand
on my own,
I am compared to monsters.
A feminazi.
Calling for the genocide of jokes.