Double Standard Poem by Bernard F. Asuncion

A scale, tilted, always.
One side, feather-light, whispers of grace,
the other, leaden, groans with consequence.

A woman's voice, raised,
hysterical, they say, a storm in a teacup.
A man's, booming, resonant,
commanding, the voice of reason.

Her dress, too short, too tight,
a provocation, a silent scream.
His gaze, lingering, possessive,
a natural instinct, they claim.

Her ambition, sharp, cutting,
a threat to the fragile balance.
His drive, relentless, admirable,
the path to rightful power.

Her tears, weakness,
a flood of melodrama.
His, a rare and solemn release,
a testament to his burdened soul.

Her history, a scarlet letter,
etched in unforgiving ink.
His, a tapestry of rugged lessons,
woven into the fabric of his strength.

The scale, it tips, it sways,
a constant cruel arithmetic.
And we, the silent accountants,
tally the uneven sum.