boys from home: “why r u so perfect?”
me: “because I’m a college educated, self-determined, self-loving woman with a sense of direction and confidence that outdoes you on every level. my ego is bigger than yours, I just don’t talk about it — but since you asked, I will. Remember the time in high school I wrote a paper on the legalization of gay marriage, and got a 99.5/100 only because I used the wrong colon, and your paper on gun rights earned the average because you pulled it from your colon? Remember how I ran at state every year from 7th-12th grade, and you barely qualified? I take care of myself — when I don’t it’s because I’m too busy being what you would call a “bitch” in the workplace, but I could beat you in an interview any day. I can organize a rally, make a flyer or brochure for the events you’ll never care to go to (rather you would greedily attend Feminism is Cancer), plan a conference, survive in the outdoors, build a garden, work three jobs at a time, maintain good grades AND do the emotional labor as well. I gladly cook my friends a meal, connect people with similar interests, give hugs and flowers freely and openly, encourage and console emotions, and remember to write the Thank You cards. I do not need you in my life. Sometimes I hate my body, and sometimes I love it; sometimes I hate my face when I wake up in the morning, and sometimes I adore my visage. either way, or anywhere in between, it is mine and it will never be yours. My body does not need yours. My wallet does not need yours. My degree will not need yours. You cannot tame me. You cannot make me into the girl that will suck your dick when you push her head down. You cannot make me cry when I choke because you pushed my head down too far and too quickly. You cannot make me cry, period. Not anymore; I am done with boys like you. My tears are self-healing and will not be wasted. If feminism is cancerous then I will gladly be the infectious tumor that spreads to all your organs. I have finally taken my mother’s words to heart: high heels, high standards. I was not raised to need a man, I was raised to respect myself — my parents did well, but boys like you fucked me up. In the past I have been disrespected, fondled, touched, lied to, pulled back, begged. Sometimes I laid in silence because after a while it was apparent saying “No” made no difference. But if you have the audacity to believe that silence equals enjoyment or consent, then I pity you because as long as you think that then no one will ever give you good sex. ONLY those that are good to me, and for that matter, any woman or child, will ever have a chance of running by my side, because I do not stop and wait. I do not slow down. And if you try to stop me, or hurt me, just know that my lungs are twice capacity to yours and they can YELL LOUD. If you improve, if you learn, if you respect others how they deserve, then I will cheer for you as I have always cheered for my peers, no matter the team or race or gender or sexuality or religion — but still I do not owe you any part of me.
I struggle every day to be the woman I aim to be; I struggle to write these words and publish these words because boys like you have been telling girls like me that words like these do not belong in our hearts, our mouths, our gorgeous bellies that may one day raise another wild child like me, but never an infant like you. Women are life, women are love, women are masterpieces. I will not stop painting or pleasing or relishing in my nude masterpiece because it makes you uncomfortable; you have been painting and gawking at nude women for centuries upon centuries, the only difference is that you tell them they must be thinner now. Goddesses today are not as they are in paintings of the past, they are not healthy, full, or worshipped, they are poked, prodded, judged, belittled, discounted — and you are not a god for trying to control and contort these women that you view to be things. My body is not a free market, you do not get to make demands and I will not supply. My body is not a democracy, you do not get a vote on my politics nor my appearance. My body is a Queen, crown and all, as generous as Robin Hood, but keep your act up and you will forever only be the Joker. I am organic, unprocessed, re-rooted and in bloom. I am not perfect, I never have and I never will be. Perfection was never the goal. You were never the goal. I was, am, and will be the goal, giving my love, my time, my energy, my respect, to those who have always been struck by the lightning of boys like you. You do not get to bask in my sunlight until you stop bringing your cloud of darkness to others. You do not get any of this imperfection.
By the way… new phone, who this?”