Member-only story
SELF-LOVE | WOMEN’S HEALTH
Call Me Wicked, If You Will
Still, I rise
From between our legs, from the very core of our being, life bursts forth.
Yet here we are, again, fighting, sighing, lying, and sometimes dying for our right to exist in the world.
I’m done trying to make sense of the nonsensical, especially people. I refuse to let the crazies out there drive me crazy in here.
Our magic is real. Call us wicked all you want, but tell me, what would you do without us?
Who else is to blame, who else will you blame when there is no option for personal accountability?
Cast the burden on us. Make us believe that we were born inferior. We’ll never be good enough to thrive, to live, or even survive.
That’s what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night.
Put others down to lift yourself up. Whatever works, right?
I have turned my cheek over and over again out of mercy, forgiveness, love, compassion, ignorance, optimism, faith, trust, hope, and the many other attributes that were put onto me to embody as a good person.
The Kool-Aid tasted so sweet that I lapped it up and begged for more.
