"You’re not one of those are you?"

Found this awesome poem in Swedish, gonna translate it to English – will miss out on rhyming, but the importance of the poem will shine through, a really hurried translation though could have been worded so much better, but eeeh it’s damn good anyway:

“You’re not one of those extreme feminists are you?”
You asked me
With that little twinkle in your eyes
Like as if it all was a joke
And as if I was supposed to start laughing
Lean my head 
Flutter with my eyelashes
Affirm my womanhood
Play dumb
But no
Dear you
I am extreme in every kind of way
I am extremely for rights
And I am extremely for obvious statements
Like earning the same kind of salary as a man
When I do the exact same work, with the same effort
I am extremely against the rapeculture
And the machostructure
So that my little brother
Can grow up
Without being ashamed of crying
When he’s hurt

And I have a hard time understanding
How I am supposed to forgive
And move on
When it is enough for me
To watch any kind of program on the TV
And play the game “count the women”
And barely come up to five in amount
In comparison to
If I would have been born with a penis
Between my legs
And then we’re not even supposed to play “count the transpeople”
Not even in movies or documentaries about trans
Because apparently white CIS men 
Are the only people that are capable of understanding
How hard it can be
To manage yourself
As a trans
In today’s society
No, think about
If I was born as a man
Instead
Then I would also be able to complain
About how tired I am
When girls always try to appear
So damn weak
And I would have to stand the obnoxious
When my girlfriend wants to drive the car
Even though I am trying to avoid a carcrash
No, think about if I was born as a guy
Then I would have been praised
As the class’s genius
And not like the girl that tried
To act like a goody-two-shoes for the teacher
No, if I was born as a dude
Then maybe I would have been sitting
And pretend to be invisible
Behind a computerscreen
And while my wife cooks the dinner
To our daughters
I would sit there and write
On Facebook
And Twitter
About how whorish today’s girls are
And how they just need a little
Bit of cock
So they can shut the fuck up
But at the same time I
Don’t even want to touch them
With a pair of pliers
No, think about how fantastic it is
To be able to be born
As a man
To always be counted in
All public rooms
To never have to live with the presumption
That I have to be dumb
Just because I was born as a female

So I don’t know what it can be
But I would have been happy if someone
At least wanted to explain
What it means
With extreme feminism
Is it extreme to think
That I should be able to feel safe
In school
When I leave work
And during the jog
Is it extreme that I want to escape
Groping hands
At the pub
And is it extreme that I don’t want to
Hear
“But stop going there then”
When I’m trying to talk about it
Why do I have to stop going there?
Why can’t grown men just
Keep their hands in check
Why
Does it have to be me fleeing
As if I always have to be a constant victim
On the run
So call me extreme
If that is what is needed
So that more people will dare to say that it’s enough

So I lean my head
Flutter with my eyelashes
Pout my lips
Lean forward
And whisper in your ear
That
“I am the worst extreme feminist that you will ever meet”
Then I ignite
My pink, glitter bra
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