I hate that word. I hate that it holds some unknown standard of how I’m living, and how I’m supposed toward others.
My father tells me my hair is ugly short, because what man will love a woman with short hair? It’s unnatural.
My mother tells me I must always finish the job, no matter what the circumstances are. You have to show men that you’re a go getter, and that you’re the capable of being a mom.
My grandparents tell me I must treat my boyfriend a certain way in order to keep him around. He doesnt want a needy girl, but make sure to only care about his needs. Oh, and always keep him happy, even if it slacks onto you.
My past boyfriends have told me what I am and am not allowed to be upset by. I may be hurt when they don’t talk to me for days, or go out drinking and come back with some other girls lipstick all over their neck.
My fellow class mates say that rape is a touchy subject. But how hard is it to admit that someone who didn’t want to be touched shouldn’t have been touched, no matter what the circumstances? Oh but she was a girl. She must have wanted it, because that boy was hot.
I’m sick and tired of being told what I must be, can’t do, have to want, act a way because I am a woman.
I am me. That’s all there is too it.