Angele Toomey Poetry

I sometimes feel that an identity like “hard femme” makes some people squirm — too much makeup, too much shine, too much softness for a community that still mistakes masculinity for power.

I’ve lived inside the rainbow world and it’s signalling that preaches feminism, equality, freedom but still dismisses voices like mine as decorative, shallow, or easy to hush. I think it might also be at the core of some of the transphobia against transgender women.

This poem is my small, sharp refusal: a reminder that femininity is not silence, that the lipstick I wear has no bearing on what I bring to the table. Overlook us at your peril.

The volume of my lipstick
My voice is not silent
It's simply often not heard
the volume of my lipstick
speaks louder than I ever could.

I am to be looked at
held proudly on the arm
Good for small talk, light-weight chat
And being kept away from harm.

My aspirations and dreams
Dismissed as quickly as
anti-ageing face cream
As if I am a walking farce.

I am not supposed to know
As much as other folks
I'm to be distracted by glitter rainbows
And not ask questions that probe and poke.

"Oh honey, it can't be real misogyny"
Not in the conventional sense
When it comes from our community
With all its feminist pretence.

I cannot be a "power femme"
Who can handle an AGM and power tool
It's not possible for me to know more than them
Oh shucks- I am going to break their rules.