no, my hair is in a bun, not a man bun.

I had my hair in a bun today.

my adolescent son

asked if i had a “man bun.”

how is it that something that has always been

can take off as some man trend,man bun tutorial

and now

a hairdo that I have been wearing forever as a girl

and a woman,

and has been around since long before  me,

is now identified as something a man does to his hair?

oh gendered world and all of your                                 concocted borders and differences.

no, my hair is in a bun.

if a man has his hair in a bun,

that is also a bun,

not a man bun.

i carry a purse.

not a woman purse.

if a man carries a purse

that is also a purse,

not a man purse.

if a man wears a skirt,

it is a skirt,

not a man skirt.

we use soap to clean our bodies.

not woman soap

and man soap.







the apocalypse

will not hasten its arrival

by messing with this deemed social order

we call the gender binary.

hair dos

are hair dos.


are clothes.

teams divided

by boy

and by girl

bathrooms divided

by men

and by women

attempt to create the illusion,

the very desperate illusion

that our sexual urges

and our sexual bodies

will be protected by

such societal divisions,

that we must be protected

by such societal divisions.

or else.

or else what?

everyone will start fucking


and all the time,

for we are all fiends,

of course,

but they won’t know who

they are supposed to fuck.

and no one will know

which soap to use

or what clothes to wear

or which bathroom to enter

or how to wear their hair

or what they are good at in school

or which colors they like

or which duties to fulfill at home

or what interests to have

or,  or, …god

what a nightmare without such prescribed order.


yeahhhhh…..noooooo. Carrie_Buns[1][1][2]

This entry was posted in Poetry, Tellin it and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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