I grew up reading about women who never needed saving. They didn't need a man to 'save' them. They were their own knights in shining armour.
Sidenote: Whether you be a man or a woman, you can't possibly be completed by another flawed human being. (I'm sorry if you disagree, but I am adamant about this.)
And as I grew older, I came to understand that some of the worst villains didn't have horns sticking out of their hair. They wore helmets to hide them.
Side-sidenote for all kinds of folk: watch out. There are real predators out there.
Poem 4 dwells on this idea.
He rides an i8
And fancies himself a knight.
With his broad sword
And his whiskey glass shield,
He slays dragons
Only to watch their limp forms transform into maidens.
My friends and I
Wear walls of armour,
And smash empty bottled brains against rocks,
Shattering hearts without meaning to.
Guilt ridden, we carve wooden swords from tree branches,
And fend off the nasty lies the shattered brave broadcast.
We practice our swordplay on the beach by the bay,
Our words curling into blades.
We laugh when we bruise.
We taunt when we lose.
And he stands at the edge of the cliffs,
His eyes a sea kissed blue
From the time he ran from the rain.
He watches us
And sees us breathe fire.
Not comprehending that we swallow the sun
And spit Helium bubbles for fun.
We are our own knights now.
In dresses of mail,
We slam against the pavement infested streets as we walk
Down to the alley
To slay the i8 monster.