why is it that whenever we– women– show the slightest sign of anger or strength we are presented with one of two masks: the *****, or better yet, the Joke.
why can’t we demand anything without being called fickle or foolish while a man can do the same and be called Boss?
why can’t we choose to look like the calla and not be chastised for pettiness, for wanting to feel pretty? after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media, we’re labeled with a laugh or the scales of a serpent when we want to to bite back.
you chuckle when i bare my teeth, you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry. I dare you to tell me why.
i am not a ***** i am far from a Joke. i have skin and bones hands to work with eyes to see and most importantly i have guts. *i am human.