Dormant

My dear,
Do not let your dainty-ness
Be used against you.

As if your feminine hands
Could not rip this
Creeps throat from his neck.

Do not let an open door
Turn into a self-signed invite
To slap your arse as you walk past.

Break the fuckers arm.
Then his nose.
Then his ego.

Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s dormant.
Hiding behind a mask
Of twenty-first century entitlement.

My dear,
You are neither dead, nor dormant.
Your dainty hands can open your own damn doors.