i don’t hate men for no reason.
we detest what we do not understand, it is human nature.
in the way that men do not understand why a woman wouldn’t want them, and therefore detest the very notion of consent, i detest the man who’s motives i do not understand nor trust.
“you will never find a boyfriend with that attitude” my father warns me.
as if that is my pure purpose in life.
as if i am actively seeking a man to complete me at this time.
as if the man i hope to end up with cannot handle the idea that i fear the gender that has caused me the most pain and harm.
“you’re a fucking whore” the text reads.
i ask why. what did i do now.
we never dated, i think, but i don’t say that, because he’s angry, and angry men are not to be trusted with hearing what does not please them.
the man who desired me but i did not allow to date me, why do i owe him loyalty when it was never promised in the first place?
because he felt that despite my declining him relentlessly, he owned me. and although we never dated, i belonged to him because he wanted me for himself - regardless of how i felt.
the feminine apologetic states that we must act meek and mild in the face of men in order to preserve their feelings of superiority over us.
“i’m pretty” i say, matter of factly, i know this because many men have told me.
“no you aren’t, you slut.” he responds.
women can only be pretty if the man says so, but even so, they cannot openly admit to this either, because if the woman does not act desirably, the man can retract his statement.
i open my phone carefully at 2am. i know the message before it graces my tired eyes.
lustful and vulgar words appear on the screen. he tells me what he wants to do to me - never with me - and how.
i don’t like this man. i’ve told him before that i’m not interested. he doesn’t mind. if he ignores the rejection and sends the text anyway, and i read it, his desired goal is achieved all the same... no matter my own discomfort.
a relationship built upon fun and laughter, we stay up until all hours playing video games. we log off for the night, tired and buzzed all at the same time. he texts me. and i reply. and we’re joking around until he changes his mood.
“send me something..” he writes, and i stare in disbelief.
i tell him i don’t do that and he takes a while before replying something about it being a joke. he didn’t want anything. just a joke...
men always ask for pictures, no matter how clear you’ve made it that you’re friends, and the lack of romantic interest you have displayed towards them.
they feel that any relationship they have with a woman entitles them to seeing her body.
so yes, i do hate men, but it runs so much deeper than a childish and stubborn dislike for the gender. it stems from a deep-rooted fear of disappointment, betrayal, being used or abused simply for my own gender. i’m only seventeen, and yet i’ve heard such vile and vulgar jokes about women from the mouths of young boys that i can only fear the way it manifests in their brains for the future. genuine emotions are hard to find, all of which disguise the true sinister intentions underneath.
a true man, one worthy of my love, would work to prove he does not represent the things that make me detest men, and until then, i am okay with being by myself.
