Feeling on my game. It is my life, my sidewalk, my internet, my dreams, my world. I don’t give a damn. I’m taking it back. This is a wilderness hike. Anybody bringing me garbage can pack it back out along with their tent.
I am mad that there is an abusive man y’all elected as president. I’m mad that they are gonna be drilling in our wilderness and already trying to tell teen undocumented immigrants what they can do with their bodies like they own them.
I’m done with all the “fake news” people who wouldn’t know fake news if it was a poisonous snake that had already bit them (and it did).
I’m done with the people who are so against abusive behavior unless it’s their friend and then in that case could you just calm down recognize that there are two sides to every story.
I am done with people thinking it is my job to be their secretary or mom or girlfriend or whatever woman they usually dump stuff they don’t feel like dealing with on. Did my maid apron say “scapegoat” on it? Who cares because I burned that thing in the yard instead of my bra. You can dust your own tchotchkes.
I’m done with old men acting like they have career opportunities that turn out to actually have something to do with their dick. Almost nobody cares about your weiner. Quit advertising and waving it around like I’m possibly among the .01% of women who do.
I’m done with putting on makeup and acting like I’m fine when I didn’t sleep the night before. I’m done having people asking if I’m tired when this is just my face. So if you ask me that I will tell you it is just my face.
I don’t need your wardrobe tips. My skirt is always the right length. Or your unsolicited advice on how to manage my social media. It is mine. Does that bother you?
I will not shut up. And yes, I know I can. I tried it and I didn’t fucking like it, so I don’t have to do that anymore. Unless, you know, I choose to. How’s that for free speech?
I don’t need your admonishment towards dulcet tones. If I screech like a damn banshee will you hear me then? Didn’t think so. So I’ll use whatever tone I want.
I will love you. I will love everyone. Because I can. I have room for it. I don’t have to listen to your manifesto on who to hate or participate in your stupid catfight. You know who’s on my list of people to hate and compete with? Nobody. Nobody is. Next. Yep, nobody there too.
I don’t need your membership. I don’t need your shenanigans. I don’t need the brand of cool that you are peddling. I’ve got my own in this backpack here and I carry it with me like hot sauce in case of emergency. But my life is spicy so I haven’t had to use it yet.
Don’t you “not all of us” or “most people” me when you don’t get out much and aren’t well assured that that’s the case and are just knee jerk defending yourself and your reputation. I’m not gonna do that back to you because I have education and tact. But you don’t seem to notice.
Don’t act like I’m your friend if you can’t trust my judgment when it counts. If you doubt me and think I’m hit or miss then I’m just a fun acquaintance and we don’t need to get any further than that.
I don’t appreciate being co-opted into your plan. If I said no, I will remain unconvinced. So if that’s where you’re at, don’t waste my time or yours.
I don’t want you to ask “and then what?” like I have to think for you and you’re a deer about to get hit by a car. Come up with a plan and run it by me.
I don’t give a damn whether you think my body is hot or fat or healthy or has curves you want to touch. Whoever I want to let have access to my body has already got it and we are doing great and don’t need feedback.
If I want to mother I will do it on my own terms. I don’t need your advice on overpopulation or the necessity of parenting or how I will suddenly learn what the world is when I procreate or breastfeed or get a c-section. I’ve got nine siblings and they were each the most beautiful baby and child. And if I have mixed Viet-Cajun babies they will be an ordinary level of cute and aren’t gonna solve the world’s racism, whether or not they’re passé blanc.
I am sick of all the noise. All the women’s empowerment jargon where you give her chickens or titles or thanks in speeches along with your directives. I want an equal or higher income and a good dishwasher and someone not female to do most of the laundry.
An empowered woman is a woman who makes her own decisions and can survive them. I’ve survived all mine so far, even the ones that felt like they’d kill me.
I’m tired of all this not killing me making me stronger. Somebody else do the work for a while.