We are women
We are daughters and mothers and lovers and wives
And very pleasant neighbors
Sometimes we’re simply “you know, that one bitch”.
Beautiful and plain; tragic and wise. We move mountains.
Our families expect us to be a little bit larger than life. Our feminist friends expect us to be even larger than that. The men we know joke about aprons and sandwiches.
And we’re kind of okay with all that. Sometimes.
We are graceful. We are sexy. We are rebels.
We are submissive. We are authoritarians.
We are not dull, except for when we are. Incidentally; only because your idea of interesting really isn’t even all that great.
But we let you think it is because it's better for you that way
We are biologically driven to cultivate miracles and we are socially conditioned to think that that’s just not enough.
We are going to deny that previous statement and also discredit everything I say from here on out…
Because we defy gravity in ways that astound us
Because despite our painful thirst we still expect less from ourselves.
And we’re not really sure why that is.
We ignore our hearts to follow other leads
Then rectify that discomfort by humiliating our sisters
We are the worst kind of misogynist, you see
The fruits of our desire turn bitter with neglect
We shrivel up and die, leaving behind rolling legacies; wheels to be reinvented
By other women; other daughters and mothers and lovers and wives,
Friendly neighbors with pretty gardens and prettier smiles;
We are women.
And we don’t even know what that means.
