People never notice anything

When we are girls, they hand us dolls and say “Be like this.” Pretty. Pliable. Silent. We grow up holding glassy eyed fantasies Taught early on that we will never be as perfect as what we are asked to be. When we are no longer girls, but not yet women, they hand us razors and say “Run these across your skin.” We learn that our bodies are intrinsically wrong And when we tear ourselves open trying to scrape away the inadequacy they’ve forced on us They act shocked. When we are women, they hand us shame and say “Here. This is yours to carry.” So we drape it around our necks like a scarf And the furious proclamations that rise in our throats stay trapped just below our tongues. But I am not made of porcelain. Take your dolls back. I am not yours to shatter. I will take the razors that they handed me and use them to tear the shame from my neck because I’ll be damned if “woman” and “shame” are synonyms. I will be part of the generation that hands my girls steel. And says, “Be like this.” Strong. Immovable. Shining. They will grow up seeing that they do not have to bend, that if someone tries to break them they will not do so silently. The generation that teaches our girls that they were made to withstand storms, and that they are no one’s to hold.

When we are girls, they hand us dolls and say “Be like this.” Pretty. Pliable. Silent. We grow up holding glassy eyed fantasies Taught early on that we will never be as perfect as what we are asked to be. When we are no longer girls, but not yet women, they hand us razors and say “Run these across your skin.” We learn that our bodies are intrinsically wrong And when we tear ourselves open trying to scrape away the inadequacy they’ve forced on us They act shocked. When we are women, they hand us shame and say “Here. This is yours to carry.” So we drape it around our necks like a scarf And the furious proclamations that rise in our throats stay trapped just below our tongues. But I am not made of porcelain. Take your dolls back. I am not yours to shatter. I will take the razors that they handed me and use them to tear the shame from my neck because I’ll be damned if “woman” and “shame” are synonyms. I will be part of the generation that hands my girls steel. And says, “Be like this.” Strong. Immovable. Shining. They will grow up seeing that they do not have to bend, that if someone tries to break them they will not do so silently. The generation that teaches our girls that they were made to withstand storms, and that they are no one’s to hold.

Have you ever had an imaginary friend? :D