you've been a vague stranger nearly all my life,
you've set unrealistic boundaries, you've made me feel lesser, you've set me apart from all the other girls.
You’ve written me subtle letters, with various carriers, and pretty packaging.
Like the countless times momma told me, “put on some earrings, lookin’ like a young man,” or when the lunch lady in 5th grade told me “Stop whistling, that’s not ladylike,” or when the random man in McDonald’s told me “I’d be a cute lil girl if I stopped lookin’ so mean.”
Anybody can be a mail carrier for Womanhood, apparently.
However, your letters were poorly written, unconvincing, and useless.
You should really get a new spokesperson.
I don't wear earrings and I don't wear skirts,
I'm wondering why that makes me less of a girl?
“you should be more of a girl this year!”
the nail shop feels foreign, I just wanna roughhouse and play.
so what my hair is messy? so what my hair is short?
the way I wear my hair does not change what's between lies between my legs.
Your heels dig deep into my skin, and honestly, Jimmy Choo is making my blood boil.
I think they say girls are “sugar, spice and everything nice.”
but this girl ain't no PowerPuff, for me, it’s “salt, savagery, and all things of mass destruction.”
we treat womanhood as a bush and the best girls are plucked like berries while those who don't meet the standards are left behind with a little “fertilizer” to help them “grow”.
you live your life in a hollow shell where they just begin to nitpick at you.
Why am I expected to smile at all times?
Why am I expected to sit with my legs crossed?
Why am I expected to always have clean, flawless, smooth hair?
Why can't I yell and scream?
It was then, I realized.
So to that woman who told me to “try some makeup?” your foundation was two shades too light.
And Dear Momma, I don't need no earrings boo, my smile is bright enough.
Dear lunch lady, this lady can whistle right along.
Dead McDonald's man, this mean mug is cuter than you'll ever be.
So dear momma, dear lunch lady, dear McDonald's man, and most importantly, dear womanhood:
Womanhood IS me.
Womanhood is short haircuts, unflattering clothing, walking around earring-less, whistling in the cafeteria, messy hair, yelling louder than your lungs can handle, and lookin’. so. mean.